


October 2006: Missed Connections

by Jane0Doh



Series: The Hand of God [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminal Minds Setting, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Awkwardness, Canon Compliant - Criminal Minds, Doctor Sam Winchester, First Dates, Friendship, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Missed Connections, Not Canon Compliant - Supernatural, Phone Calls, Sam has a tragic past, Secret Identities, Self-Worth Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-03 17:59:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14001507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane0Doh/pseuds/Jane0Doh
Summary: The one where Spencer and Sam go on a date that almost wasn't.





	1. Chapter 1

_October 14 th, 2006:_

It was far too early to be out of the house, far too cold for the beginning of October, and yet Spencer was already dressed and out the door at the ass-crack of dawn, shivering his way to the Red Brick café.

Granted, he didn’t  _need_  to go… but it had become a sort of routine for him over the past few weeks, and he hadn’t any cases recently to drag him out of town, so he relished the normalcy of it. Honestly, it was getting to the point where he was loath to get a new case, as that would mean putting his new morning tradition on pause, and that just wouldn’t do.

It had been a long time since he’d had someone to talk to about books in any meaningful capacity. Too long (since he was in college, actually) since he'd met someone who seemed interested in the same niche subjects as him, and who seemed to actually enjoy speaking with him about it. And it had been far too long since Spencer had a friend, outside of work, take an interest in  _him_  and  _his_  life (mundane as it was), and he found himself appreciating the companionship.

More than that though, it had been so long since Spencer had experienced a crush this intense, this  _severe_ , that if (when) he was called away on a case, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to handle the distance with the decorum of a grown adult with three PhD’s.

He had a feeling he’d more likely end up pining like a lovestruck schoolgirl until he got back to DC, and back to his standing morning meetings with Doctor Sam Campbell at his favorite café.

Since the night they finally introduced themselves, Spencer’s perception of the other man had completely shifted. He thought he was just a creep before then, when he was copying what Spencer was reading and incessantly  _staring_. But, now that he’d gotten to know Sam, he knew different. Despite being tall and commanding, Sam was painfully shy and so easily embarrassed that oftentimes Spencer found he needed to carefully parse his words, lest he say something to make Sam clam up and go beet red. The only reason Sam had gone so long without speaking to Spencer in the first place was because he could never manage to build up the nerve, and whenever he had, Spencer was already gone, having just stopped in to grab his coffee and go.

Now though, Sam had come out of his shell, and Spencer knew better than to write him off. The man he’d thought was just some weirdo jerk was actually highly intelligent, self-made and successful, with goals and ambitions that he fought after with a single-minded tenacity that impressed Spencer like no other. He was funny, dry and sarcastic but also absurdly charming, capable of cracking Spencer up with nothing more than a off-handed quip about his job.

But most of all, Sam was kind, and he seemed to really enjoy spending time with him. He’d been the one to suggest they meet in the mornings, earlier than normal, just so they could sit and talk with each other a little longer. He was the one to initially take the plunge and attempt to speak to Spencer, and now, Sam was the one to ensure they continued to talk, forging a burgeoning friendship that Spencer was both grateful for, and terrified of.

Grateful, because he sincerely enjoyed Sam’s company, and having a friend outside of the BAU was doing wonders for his mood.

And terrified, because the more time he spent with Sam, the more he fell head over heels for him.

The mere sight of him made Spencer’s heart skip a beat, and this morning was no different. As he walked into the café, Spencer spotted Sam immediately, hunkered down in their normal spot, far from the counter and close to the fireplace. It was Spencer’s favorite (as someone perpetually cold who also couldn’t relax when bombarded by the presence of strangers), and since Sam got there first every morning, he made a point of snagging the spot and saving Spencer a seat.

He was hunched over a book, the same one that Spencer had stashed in his bag, and was reading intently, his brow furrowed in concentration. His long brown hair was tucked behind his ears, just brushing the collar of his plaid button-up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was in street clothes, not scrubs, which either meant he had the day off, or he was on-call that night. And, judging by his horrendous schedule as of late, Spencer could assume he was probably on-call, and probably not for the first time that week, either.

Sam didn’t look up when Spencer walked in, too engrossed in  _Gravity’s Rainbow_ , and when Spencer pulled out the chair next to him he jumped, startled by the sudden movement. “Good morning,” Sam said with a smile that forced all of the air from Spencer’s lungs, his stomach clenching uncomfortably.

Busying himself with the untouched cup of coffee that sat beside Sam’s, Spencer pulled it towards him, inhaling deeply the smell of espresso and too many caramel shots that called to him like a beacon, promising the kind of higher brain function he sorely lacked that early on a Monday. Sam didn’t wait for Spencer to return his greeting, used to him needing a few moments to wake up once he sat down, and instead returned to his book, knotting one of his hands in his hair as he paused on a particularly meaty passage.

“How’re you doing?” Spencer asked eventually, and Sam somehow just knew he was asking about the book.

“This is without a doubt the most frustrating thing you’ve had me read,” Sam groused, letting the book fall open onto the table, “He’s delving into some heavy stuff: quantum mechanics, mass extinction, speculative metaphysics… but he writes like the lovechild of Kerouac and Faulkner.”

“It  _has_  been called the definitive postmodern novel,” Spencer said, nodding sympathetically. He smiled, leaning forward and resting his chin in his palm as he asked, “Think you’re going to fall behind? I finished it yesterday.”

Sam took his question for what it was: a challenge. He sat back in his chair, raising his mug to his lips and stopping, just before taking a sip, to smirk at Spencer from over the rim of his cup. Brimming with a confidence that made Spencer shift in his seat, he locked eyes with him and said, “Not a chance. You’re not getting ahead of me, even if that means I’m reading this—” he paused, raising the book in the air, “all day long.”

It was like he didn’t even have to blink, Spencer mused and he gulped nervously, his eyelids fluttering despite his best efforts as Sam stared at him, eyebrow quirked in strategic self-assurance.

Typical Alpha-male, Spencer thought with a sigh as he gave in to his biological need to blink.

Sam closed the book, sliding it into his bag under the table and turned his full attention to Spencer, who was himself absorbed in his coffee. “Do you think you’ll get a case today?” he asked, leaning his forearms against the table, his keen gaze tracking the way Spencer tapped his fingertips along the side of his mug.

“I’m not sure,” Spencer shrugged, taking a sip and scanning the empty coffee house, “Its not unusual for us to have a lull between cases, but its been three weeks now, which  _is_  odd.” He looked up sharply and shook his head, realizing how that has sounded, “Not that I’m wishing for one! I wouldn’t, its not like I want people to get hurt so I can have something to do, its just—”

“Even if you aren’t being called in, that doesn’t mean people  _aren’t_  being hurt,” Sam finished for him, nodding solemnly, “Its just that the ones doing it aren’t any closer to being caught.” He looked up at Spencer from underneath his brow, imploringly, “Right?”

“Right,” Spencer said softly, a flush rising unbidden to his cheeks, “There’s always someone out there, waiting to be stopped. If we aren’t being called in, that’s just more time for them to get away with the reprehensible things they’re doing.”

“And that makes you anxious,” Sam said, running his fingertips over his lips, studying Spencer carefully.

A chuckle burst past his lips before he could stop it, and Spencer leaned back in his seat with a smile. “Hey,” he admonished playfully, giving Sam’s shin a light nudge with the toe of his sneaker, “Who’s the profiler here, Doctor?”

Sam smiled bashfully, ducking his chin to his chest and Spencer gulped nervously, affection blooming in his chest. “I just figured, since you seem to be the master of metabolic disorders, something supposedly in  _my_  wheelhouse,” Sam said, scratching at the surface of the splintered wooden table, his cheeks dimpling as his grin widened, “it wouldn’t hurt to branch out into your speciality,  _Doctor_.”

Spencer cleared his throat, attempting to tamp down the rampant butterflies in his stomach. He steeled his expression, or at least tried to; he couldn’t quite keep a smile from twisting the corners of his lips, and he was certain he looked ridiculous as he struggled to keep a straight face. “Well then,” he said, his voice even and taunting, “why don’t you test your profiling aptitude on…” Spencer glanced across the coffee shop and pointed, drawing Sam’s attention to an older gentleman sitting at the bar, “that guy.”

“Really?” Sam asked, looking at the man across the shop and then back at Spencer, “How will you know if I’m right? Do you know him?”

“No I don’t, but trust me,” Spencer said, tapping his fingers along the side of his mug, confidence brimming as they entered into  _his_  conversational territory, “I’m great at my job. I’ll know.”

It was Sam’s turn to cough nervously, setting his sights on the gentleman at the bar, who was drinking his cappuccino and chatting with Lisa, blissfully unaware. Spencer bit his tongue, wanting to give Sam a fair chance before teasing him, and as the other man attempted to profile the stranger, he busied himself with profiling Sam.

He was quite the enigma, but Spencer knew that from the first time he laid eyes on him. Shy despite his looming stature, always trying to make himself seem smaller than those around him, out of a desire to blend in but also for their comfort. He was soft-spoken, but liked to tease, and when he knew he was right about something, he didn’t hold back.

But there was  _something_  he was holding back.

He never talked about his family. That in itself wasn’t odd but combined with his openness in other facets of his personal life, it  _was_. He had no issues talking about his “adopted” family, his roommates Kevin and Cas, and Cas’ little brother Jack. He spoke of his foster parents often, Bobby and Ellen, his foster-step-sister, Jo (his family situation seemed complicated from the get go), and he held no secrets where the difficulties of his job and his horrendous boss, Crowley, were concerned. But whenever the subject strayed to his birth family, to a brother and parents Spencer had only heard hints of, Sam did something peculiar.

He tapped his right ring finger.

Twice.

Once, Spencer had asked him a question, something seemingly innocuous, like where he was born, and even though Sam had answered him (vaguely; all he said was Kansas), he’d tapped the tip of his right ring finger off the surface of the table twice, in rapid succession.

And once more, when Spencer asked if he had any siblings, Sam had told him about Jo easily enough. But when he mentioned he also had an estranged older brother, he tapped his finger again. Twice.

It wasn’t the only compulsion he had, but it was the one Spencer found the most interesting. He had a habit of looking at the café door every time someone walked into the restaurant, no matter where they were sitting or how often the door opened, exactly two times. He also had a nervous tic, wherein he tucked his hair behind his ear, running the tips of his fingers down the shell of his ear from top to bottom, twice.

Sam was aware of it and obviously ashamed, as evidenced by how he tried to hide it. Spencer saw him struggle to resist the urge to perform the compulsion each time it happened, and it broke his heart. He couldn’t help but feel bad for Sam; not for suffering from a disorder outside of his control, but because he felt it was something to be embarrassed about. Spencer found himself wishing a few times that he could explain he didn’t mind, and that Sam didn’t need to feel badly about his disorder… but every time he tried, the words stuck in his throat and he chickened out.

He supposed he could express the sentiment without disclosing his own experiences with mental illness, but he felt that if he tried, it would seem fake. Spencer didn’t want to tell him about his mother, or his fear that he might someday inherit her sickness, because he liked Sam, a lot. And he didn’t want him to think less of him (not that he would; Sam was a doctor, for goodness sake) because of it.

Spencer leaned his chin in the cradle of his palm, sighing heavily as he watched Sam watch the poor, unsuspecting stranger.

He was one to talk about being unashamed, wasn’t he?

“Okay,” Sam said suddenly, making a show of cracking his knuckles as he turned back to Spencer, “I think I’ve got it.”

“Deliver your profile, then.”

“Well,” Sam said, gesturing to the gentleman at the counter, “he’s around fifty, no wedding band, but he has a tan line where one would be, so he’s probably recently divorced.”

“Very good,” Spencer murmured, smiling softly.

“His clothes are old, but well cared for. They’ve been patched up a few times, so he probably isn’t very well off, but he takes care in his appearance and tries to seem wealthier than he is.”

“How so?”

“He’s wearing a three-piece suit in a coffee shop at six in the morning,” Sam explained matter-of-factly, “He’s got a knock-off Rolex and a faux-alligator skin briefcase. You don’t go to that kind of effort unless you’re trying to impress someone.”

“And who is that?” Spencer asked.

Sam frowned, chewing on his lower lip and paused, unsure. “Lisa, probably,” he decided, watching the stranger talk to the older woman behind the counter, who laughed uproariously at something he said, patting his arm affectionately, “they’ve been flirting the whole time I’ve been here.” He looked at Spencer and raised a brow, “Right?”

Spencer shook his head, “Close, but no.”

“Who’s he trying to impress then?”

“He’s going to interviews,” Spencer explained, drawing Sam’s attention back to the man they were interpreting, “look at his shoes.”

Sam did as he was told, lowering his gaze to the mans feet, pursing his lips when he realized he was wearing sneakers, ones that clashed with his outfit and that were obviously worn out of practicality.

“You were right that he is recently divorced,” Spencer said, drumming his fingers off the surface of the table, “and about dressing to impress, but look at the way he’s sitting.”

He did, and Sam hummed thoughtfully when he noticed the mans stiff posture, and the way he kept adjusting his tie and twisting his watch. “He’s uncomfortable,” Sam murmured, “he’s not used to wearing clothes like that, and he’s nervous.”

Spencer nodded, “Exactly. The suit  _is_ old, and out of fashion. Its probably the same suit he wore to the last job interview he had, which was years ago from the look of it.” He pointed to the man’s waist band, “He lost weight too. A good deal of it, which points to a major stressor in his life.”

“The loss of his job,” Sam said.

“Yes, the loss of his job,” Spencer continued, “which put a strain on his marriage, leading to his recent divorce. He’s attempting to seem put together but look: his hair is so long its sticking out behind his ears, and he forgot to shave this morning. His shirt isn’t ironed and there is a tear underneath his right jacket sleeve. His wife probably kept on top of him for that kind of stuff, but with her gone, he doesn’t think of it.”

“He’s hoping if he can get a new job, he can win her back.”

“Precisely.” Spencer smiled widely, patting Sam on the shoulder, “You did pretty good, Sam. You’d make an excellent junior profiler.”

Sam laughed, blushing amid the praise and waved Spencer off. “I only managed to guess he was divorced,” Sam admitted, reaching across the table and brushing a strand of hair out of Spencer’s face, tucking it gently behind his ear, “You’ve definitely proved your aptitude, Spence.”

As Sam's finger brushed the shell of his ear, Spencer gasped embarrassingly loud, and they both froze.

Sam obviously hadn’t meant to do that, if his pained, wide-eyed stare and burning red cheeks were any indication, and Spencer hadn’t expected him to, either. They both sat perfectly still, unspeaking, Sam’s hand still hovering next to Spencer’s cheek as they each attempted to unpack the moment in their minds, deciding what they hell to do.

Spencer’s heart hammered in his chest, those pesky butterflies whirling so quickly now he was beginning to feel sick. It was a surprisingly intimate move, and Spencer had to mentally talk himself down. It was a mistake, he thought ruefully, it had to be. There was no way that a man like Sam, who was tall, astoundingly handsome, personable, funny  _and_ a doctor, could have meant that simple gesture as anything more than friendly. It was Spencer, with his impossible crush and his silly, panicked gasp, that had made things awkward.

But Sam… he just sat there, his fingertips ghosting against Spencer’s cheek, and for a moment, he looked conflicted. It was just a second’s touch, his hand brushing the curve of Spencer’s ear as he had tucked his hair back, an unexpectedly intimate gesture. But in that second, it felt like a thousand volts had travelled through that single point of contact, attraction crackling like jumper cables and burning through both of them, culminating in Spencer’s sharp inhale and Sam’s narrowed gaze.

And for that one second, Spencer let himself believe that maybe he wasn’t the  _only_  one with a silly little crush.

Sam was the first to move, pulling his hand back as though the heat from Spencer’s cheek had burned him. He coughed, clearing his throat and rubbed his hands on his jeans, clearing away any phantom evidence that he’d touched Spencer at all, while avoiding his gaze as though his life depended on it.

Spencer slumped in his seat, hiding his disappointment behind his coffee mug. He let himself be upset, just for a moment as he took a large gulp of his drink, before setting it back down on the table, his expression steeled and friendly once more as he asked Sam about his plans for the day.

After all, this wasn’t his first unrequited crush.

And knowing him, it certainly wouldn’t be his last.

 

_October 15 th, 2006:_

“So, let me get this straight,” Kevin said, holding a hand in the air to keep Sam from interrupting him as he tried to collect himself, “You just reached across the table, unprompted, and  _touched_  his  _hair_?” Sam’s silence was telling enough, and Kevin laughed out loud, slumping sideways over the nurse’s station, his feet dramatically sliding out from under him as he declared, “You’re such a creep, man!”

Cas rolled his eyes, reaching across the counter with a chart in hand and whacking Kevin lightly over the head. Kevin reared back with an over-the-top yelp, rubbing the back of his head as he glared at Cas. “Leave him alone,” Cas said, holding the metal clipboard aloft in a silent threat, and when Kevin backed down, he handed it to him, explaining, “Here. They need you in the OR to place a femoral swan.”

Kevin blanched, holding the chart Cas was handing to him but not taking it. “Who’s the attending?” he asked timidly, unconsciously pushing the chart back towards Cas.

“There is no attending,” Cas said coolly, his grip tightening around the clipboard as he shoved it back towards Kevin, “It’s all on you, wonder boy.”

“You’ll do fine, Kevin,” Sam said, removing the chart from their backwards tug-of-war and placing it in Kevin’s hands, “You’ve done this procedure a thousand times before. So you don’t have someone supervising, so what?” Kevin paled again, and Sam clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly, “You can do it.”

Kevin opened his mouth to insist that no, he most definitely  _could not_ , when his pager beeped. He glared down at it, realizing it was probably the OR resident wondering where he was and deflated, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Alright,” he mumbled, taking the chart and looking up at Sam balefully, “sorry for calling you a creep.”

“Don’t be,” Meg called from behind Castiel, where she was busy inputting patient records, “he was a creep.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said, actively ignoring her, “we’re okay. Now, go stab a person in the neck with no safety net to speak of, and try not to fuck up.”

Groaning, Kevin turned and walked down the hall towards the elevators, shouting over his shoulder that “You’re all jerks!”

Sam chuckled to himself as he watched him go, turning back to Cas with a small smile. “Do you think it was really that creepy?” he asked, pretending he couldn’t hear Meg when she shouted, “For the love of god,  _yes_!”

“No,” Cas said, unconvincingly. He was busying himself with sorting patient files, compiling the stack that Sam’s attending had left for him, and wouldn’t meet Sam’s eye. “I don’t think you were being creepy,” he admitted eventually, adding, “but I do think you were being a bit of a coward.”

It was a truth that hit Sam like a punch to the gut.

Cas looked up apologetically when Sam didn’t respond, and Meg laughed sharply from her spot at the computer. “That’s worse, jolly green,” she quipped, and Cas quickly hushed her, telling her to be nice.

He was right, of course. Sam had been a coward. But knowing it and doing something about it were two different things.

When he’d finally worked up the nerve to talk to Spencer, Sam thought that was the biggest hurdle he’d have to face. He was afraid of the unknown, afraid of what might happen, whatever that may be. Once he started seeing him on a regular basis and getting to know him, Sam thought the worst of it was over.

But he was wrong: the worst wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

From afar, he knew he'd liked Spencer. He thought he was cute and intriguing, but since all he knew about him was his taste in books, that was as far as his feelings for him went: interest and appreciation. But now that they were spending every morning together, talking about everything under the sun as well as keeping up on their “who can read the most difficult books in the world the fastest” competition, Sam was forced to admit that his feelings had changed. It was no surprise to him, or Kevin and Cas apparently, that he’d ended up with the worlds biggest crush on the young doctor.

And thus, his anxiety was back with a vengeance, because he couldn’t for the life of him get a read on Reid.

The kid was like a ten-thousand-piece puzzle of nothing but blue sky. He was friendly and frank, awkward and charming, but guarded and clever, and no matter how hard Sam tried, he could not figure out what Spencer thought of him. Clearly, he liked him well enough to keep meeting with him in the mornings (even though he wasn’t much of a morning person), but every time Sam tried to flirt with him, it either went over his head or he ignored it altogether.

There was no way he wasn’t picking up on what Sam was laying down; he was a genius. He was a  _profiler_  for the FBI. His entire job hinged on his ability to observe people and figure out their innermost secrets. So, if he wasn’t reciprocating or commenting on Sam’s attempts to flirt with him, then he obviously wasn’t interested, right?

It seemed so simple when Sam thought of it like that, when he was alone doing paperwork or laying awake at night. The waters were muddied however, because no matter how convinced Sam was that Spencer wasn’t into him like “that,” whenever Sam saw him again, Spencer would do or say something to make him question how he felt about him.

Like Monday morning, for instance. Spencer hadn’t moved a muscle when Sam lost his goddamned mind and tucked his hair behind his ear. He didn’t move away, in fact he seemed to move closer, his pupils dilating and his lips parting softly as he gasped in shock. And the way he  _looked_ at Sam, like he was caught in his sights, cornered by the big bad wolf and wanting him to bite. He didn’t look uncomfortable—he looked  _turned on_.

Sam heard his breathing quicken, saw his eyelashes flutter as he sat perfectly still, waiting for Sam to do… something. To move closer, slip his fingers through the silky tresses curling against the back of Spencer’s neck and tug him forward, taking advantage of that perfectly parted pout and covering Spencer’s lips with his own. He could imagine the way Spencer would inhale sharply against his mouth, hesitating only for a moment before pressing into him, his lips moving in tandem with Sam’s as they kissed across the table.

But Sam came to his senses, suddenly embarrassed by his actions and worried that he was reading much too far into Spencer’s reaction. He was terrified he’d made Spencer uncomfortable and pulled away, letting him carry on the conversation they were having and ignoring everything that had happened, mentally chastising himself for getting lost in a stupid fantasy.

He convinced himself (again) that Spencer wasn’t interested.

As if he could read his mind, Cas clicked his tongue, pulling Sam back into the present as he said, “You’re never going to get anywhere if you don’t take a chance.”

“I thought I did,” Sam said, being deliberately obtuse, “I talked to him, didn’t I? We’re friends now, right?”

“But that’s not all you want,” Cas said, hands on his hips as he glared at Sam over the nurse’s station, silently warning him he wasn’t in the mood to put up with his shit, “And you’re never going to be satisfied until you find out if he likes you or not. Ask him out on a date, or so help me, I’m going to egg your car.”

“He’ll do it too, Doctor Bunyan,” Meg said as she sidled up next to Cas, a smarmy little smirk on her face, “and I’ll help him. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a grown man acting like a big baby. Nut up or shut up.”

Cas huffed a laugh, and when Sam shot him a pitiful look, all he could do was shrug. “She has a point,” he said, shoving Sam’s stack of charts across the counter towards him, “You’re never going to know how he feels about you if you don’t have the courage to ask.”

“Right on, Clarence!” Meg crossed her arms over her chest, levelling Sam with a terrifying glare, one that somehow wasn’t undercut by her pink scrubs and tiny frame, “So tomorrow morning, during one of your dorky little coffee dates, here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna look him straight in the eye and tell him, ‘Simon’—”

“His name is Spencer.”

Meg rolled her eyes, “Whatever. Say ‘ _Spencer,_  I want to suck you, fuck you, and take you out to dinner.’” She pursed her lips and thought about it a second, before adding, “’Though not necessarily in that order.’”

“And maybe not those exact words,” Cas said, nodding, “but basically… what she said.”

Sam shook his head, pulling his charts off the counter and gaping at the two nurses, wide eyed and disbelieving. “You two are impossible,” he said, trying to keep a straight face but unable to as nurse Masters somehow managed to smirk at him while pantomiming a blow job, “and incredibly inappropriate.”

“Hey!” Meg said sharply, pointing a finger at Sam’s chest, “I resent that. I’m the very picture of professionalism.”

“Sure,” Sam drawled, grinning as she flipped him off and went back to her data entry. He looked at Cas, hefting the stack of files in his arms and asked, “You really think I should ask him out?”

Cas nodded, “I really do.”

“Okay,” Sam said. His nerves were already cranking into high gear, but he trusted Castiel’s judgement, if not Meg’s.

He’d talk to him tomorrow morning.

 

_October 20 th, 2006:_

Spencer knew that their streak of no cases was going to end with a bang… he just didn’t anticipate it dragging on once it got there.

This was the third case they were on since the fifteenth, and he hadn’t seen his bed in five days. He spent more time on the jet and in hotels rooms than he had at home, and as much as it pained him to admit it, he missed DC. It was even harder for him to admit that what he missed more than his own bed were his morning coffees with Sam.

He hadn’t even had the chance to explain what was going on… all he’d managed was a quick text message two days ago to let him know he was still alive and not just abandoning him. He’d wanted to say more, maybe to reassure him that he wasn’t avoiding Sam due to the awkward moment they’d shared the last time they’d seen one another, but all he could bring himself to type was, “On a case. Will be back Friday.”

And all Sam had said was “Okay.”

“Okay?” Spencer muttered to himself, staring at his phone instead of sifting through newspapers like he should be, like he was there in that St. Louis precinct boardroom to do, “ _Okay_? That’s it?”

As if he needed any more proof that Sam really didn’t think of him as more than a friend.

He’d let his imagination run away with him since their last morning coffee, and now he was seriously regretting it. Spencer had replayed that moment over and over again, picking it apart from every angle, hoping to find some indication that his feelings were mutual. Why else would Sam have hesitated the way he did, his fingers skirting Spencer’s cheekbones as he stared into his eyes? Why hadn’t he just pulled away? And why was he so flustered after the fact?

Spencer was grasping at straws, and he knew it. But he also couldn’t help it.

Was it so wrong for him to hold on to hope that he might just get something he wanted, just once?

“Reid,” Hotch called to him as he walked into the board room, toting a box of old newspapers with him from evidence, “Any leads yet?”

Spencer slammed his phone onto the table with a little more force than necessary at his boss’s sudden appearance. He rifled through the newspapers in front of him, shuffling them around until he found the one he was just reading and said, “Not yet, but I think I’m on to something.”

“Well, here’s the rest of them.” Hotch set the box down in front of him with a thump, straightening out his jacket before turning to the board, “We need to figure out what it is about these papers that’s linking our killers, and we’re running short on time.”

“I know sir,” Spencer said softly, pushing his glasses up his nose and opening the bankers box, pulling out evidence bags of newspapers.

“We’re counting on you to crack this.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t make me confiscate your phone, Reid.”

Spencer looked up sharply, his eyes widening and his cheeks flushing red before he could look away. Hotch wasn’t mad, but he was levelling him with that patented SSA Hotchner stare, the one that reminded him of the only three times in his life he’d ever disappointed a teacher. “Of course, Hotch,” he said, clearing his throat as he turned his attention back to the newspapers, “I’m sorry, I promise I’m focussed.”

“I know you are,” Hotch said, his voice steady as ever, “lets keep it that way.” Spencer didn’t look up again, and Hotch didn’t say another word. Instead, he walked out of the room, the bustling sound of the precinct flowing in through the open door just momentarily, before Hotch closed it behind him again.

Spencer exhaled slowly, having been holding his breath the entire time Hotch was in the room. He cursed under his breath as he shoved his phone back in his pocket, pulling newspapers out of their bags and throwing himself into his work. How unprofessional was that? It was embarrassing, being caught going over texts on his phone like some lovesick teenager, when he should have been working. People were dying and all he could think about was what some guy had texted him.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and without thinking, Spencer pulled it out and flipped it open, assuming it was JJ or Morgan, and said, “Doctor Reid.”

“Hey, Spence.”

He just about dropped his phone.

“S-Sam?” He hissed into the phone, looking over his shoulders to make sure he was alone and cupping his hand over his mouth and the speaker, as if someone might be listening in, “What are you doing?”

“Um, calling you?” Sam said, sounding intensely confused, “Why are you whispering?”

“I’m on a case, I told you,” Spencer said as he walked over to the interior window, looking for Hotch. He spotted him across the precinct, talking with the local captain and Gideon, and Spencer whispered, “Hold on a second,” into the receiver before shoving his phone into his pocket and exiting the boardroom.

Hotch and Gideon both looked up when he entered the bullpen, and Spencer just pointed in the direction of the bathroom in lieu of explanation. Hotch held up three fingers (three minutes, great) and Spencer nodded, forcing himself to walk to the bathroom at a normal pace, instead of breaking out into a sprint like he wanted to.

But once he was around the corner and out of his superior’s line of sight, he dashed the rest of the way, darting into the men’s room and locking the door behind him.

“Sam?” he asked, once he fished his phone out of his pocket, “Are you still there?”

“Are you not allowed to use your phone while you’re working?” Came his earnest reply.

“Not normally, but Hotch has already noticed I’ve been on my phone more than normal on this case,” Spencer explained, pacing back and forth across the men’s room, double checking the stalls to make sure no one else was in there.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” Sam said, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the sincerity in his voice, “I can let you go, its really nothing im—”

“No, its fine,” Spencer assured him, leaning up against one of the tiled walls, “I can talk for a few minutes. What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“Listen, its really not a big deal. If you’re busy, I can always call back, I don’t want to get—”

“I’ve got two minutes to talk,” Spencer interjected, “and I can’t give them back now, so you might as well use them. What is it?”

“I don’t—”

“ _Sam_.”

“What are you doing Friday night?”

Spencer’s grip on his phone tightened as he tried to decide if he heard him right. “I, uh…” he trailed off, running his tongue along the back of his teeth nervously, before saying, “If I’m not out of town on a case, then nothing.” He frowned, “Why?”

“I wanted to take you out,” Sam said, his voice barely audible through the speaker, “on a date. Like, an actual date.” At Spencer’s prolonged silence, he elaborated, “With me. Outside of the café.”

There were so many things Spencer wanted to ask in that moment, but he couldn’t find his voice. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was so convinced that Sam felt absolutely nothing for him… how had he been  _so_  wrong? He was a profiler, but he couldn’t figure out that the guy he liked, liked him back?

He felt foolish.

He felt giddy.

He needed to say something so Sam wouldn’t get freaked out and take back his invitation.

“Spencer?” Sam called to him, his voice nervous, “Hey, if you don’t want to, that’s fine. I don’t want to make things awkward, if you’d rather just forget this whole conversation happened, then that’d be fine with me.”

“No!” Spencer didn’t mean to say that as loud as he did, but as it was, he all but shouted it into poor Sam’s ear. “No,” he repeated at a normal volume, closing his eyes tight and willing himself to stop being  _such_ a  _spaz_ , “Friday’s great, I’d love to go out with you.”

There was a lengthy pause and Spencer heard a sigh of relief through the receiver, before Sam said, “Awesome. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Can’t wait,” Spencer said, slapping a hand to his forehead at how juvenile that sounded, but Sam didn’t seem to mind. He could almost hear him smiling through the phone as he said his good byes.

Spencer flipped his phone shut and slipped it into his pocket, taking a deep, calming breath as he attempted to process what had just happened. “Can’t wait?” he muttered to himself, grimacing as he walked over to the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing cold water on his face. He leaned against the lip of the counter, watching the water circle the drain in the porcelain basin, his gaze unfocused as he attempted to compartmentalize.

What just happened?

_How the hell had he been so wrong?_

There was no way Sam meant it as a date. Except he’d specifically said  _date_. But maybe he meant it as a friend date? He knew Garcia used the term to describe their once a month Sunday brunches. He’d specified it as an  _actual_ date though, so…

“Stop it,” he said, shutting off the water and burying his face in both hands. He wiped at the water on his cheeks before blotting it off on his shirt sleeves and looking up at his reflection in the mirror. Wasn’t this what he wanted? He had the mother of all crushes on Sam, and he was legitimately upset when he thought the other man didn’t think of him as more than a friend. And now Sam had called him up (granted, with terrible timing) to ask him on an honest to god date. Spencer hadn’t been on a date since grad school! And he’d always been the one doing the asking!

So why was he trying to convince himself that this wasn’t a good thing?

Easy, he thought ruefully: because good things don’t happen to Spencer Reid.

Tall, handsome, intelligent and charming doctors didn’t fall over themselves to be with him… but this one was. He sighed, gnawing on his shirt sleeve distractedly as he gazed at himself in the mirror. He supposed he was alright: big brown eyes, high cheekbones and full lips. He always thought he was too skinny, too effeminate, too lanky, but as he got older he realized that, no matter what he felt about himself, there was always going to be someone who found him attractive. Human interaction was so nuanced, so complicated, that it was logically impossible for  _no one_ to be interested in him. And besides, what he felt he might have lacked in looks, he knew he more than made up for in brains.

That was what was so intriguing about Sam. From the very start, the first thing that drew his interest was Spencer’s intellect. What he read, how fast he did so, and his varied interests. And since getting to know him, Sam’s favorite thing to do was just sit around and pick his brain. To have long, in depth debates about what they were reading, or what he was studying, and every time Spencer felt he was overstepping, showing too much of his dorky self, that was when Sam seemed the most interested. He valued his mind, and not in the sense of what Spencer’s intelligence could do for him… no, it was a genuine appreciation for how it shaped his person, and every time Sam called him brilliant or amazing, it made Spencer’s heart skip a beat.

So maybe it wasn’t such a stretch to think that Sam might actually like him.

And maybe it wasn’t so odd that he would want to date him.

He was a bit of a dork himself, after all. 

Wasn’t it Sam that Spencer had caught wearing a rubber thimble while he studied, in broad daylight, claiming it “helped him turn the pages faster?” Wasn’t it Sam who made that atrocious joke about the difference between an internist, a surgeon and a pathologist, and cracked himself up over it? And wasn’t it Sam who had worked himself up to the point of almost leaving when Spencer had mentioned his distaste for Emily Dickinson?

Spencer smiled, shaking his head as he started to realize that maybe he was working himself up over nothing.

There was a loud bang at the door, and Spencer just about jumped out of his skin. He glanced down at his watch, seeing that five minutes had passed since he left the boardroom and he cursed, hurrying over to the door and pushing past the confused LEO standing on the other side.

He darted around the corner and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Hotch and Gideon were still in the same spot they were before, speaking with the captain on the opposite side of the bullpen. As quietly as he could manage, he slipped into the boardroom, taking his seat and burying himself into his work with purposed. When Hotch came in ten minutes later, he’d found the link between their killers, Hotch was none the wiser about his prolonged absence, and Spencer had a date on Friday.

 

_October 21 st, 2006:_

“Someone’s happy today,” Cas observed as he walked through the front door, smiling amusedly at Sam as he flitted around the kitchen.

Sam just hummed in response, too busy fixing himself dinner and floating on cloud nine to comment. He was practically gliding across the kitchen, a dorky smile on his face as he tried to cobble together a decent meal out of the random junk in their cupboards. Even the fact that all they had was toast, stolen fruit cups and pudding they’d smuggled sleeping patients lunch trays, and a carton of questionable eggs couldn’t put a damper on his good mood.

He'd bit the bullet. He took a chance and asked Spencer on a date. He stopped being a big coward, and for once it  _didn’t_ blow up in his face! Why wouldn’t he be pleased with himself? This was the best news he’d received since his application to Bethesda General went through.

“Of course he is,” said Kevin, answering on Sam’s behalf as he sat at the kitchen window, eating his third stolen pudding of the evening, “He’s got a date.”

“No way!” Jack poked his head into the kitchen, a silly little grin on his face, “With who?”

“With his mystery dork,” Cas said, stepping into the kitchen behind him and frowning at both Kevin and Sam’s meals. “Is that honestly what you’re having for dinner?” he asked, and upon receiving two equally blank looks he rolled his eyes, grabbing the cordless phone off the wall and tossing it to Jack, telling him to, “Order three pizzas, one no meat and cheese.”

Cas held up his hand when Kevin went to object. “If I’m going to feed one kid, I might as well feed all three of you,” he said, before hopping up onto the counter beside Sam and asking, “So, how did it go?”

“It went well, I think,” Sam said, opening a fruit cup and all but pouring it into his mouth, much to Cas’ distaste, “I called when he was on a case, and he sounded pretty busy, but he agreed to go out on Friday so I guess I didn’t inconvenience him too much.”

With a grossed-out grunt, Cas pulled a clean spoon out of the dish rack and shoved it towards Sam’s hand. “You’re such a caveman,” he grumbled, but couldn’t keep his smile at bay. Sam’s enthusiasm was catching, and he said, “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, taking the spoon and eating his fruit cup like a normal person, “Now I just need to figure out what to do. Do you know how long its been since I was on a date?”

“Six months,” Kevin piped in from his spot in the window, and when Sam and Cas both looked at him confusedly, he shrugged, “Ruby made an impact on all of us.”

Jack groaned from the living room, “I thought we weren’t ever going to mention her again!”

“I’d like to second that rule,” Sam said with a grimace, “but Kevin’s right, its been a long time.”

“Its not like the concept of dating has changed, though,” Kevin said, waving his pudding coated spoon at him, “Dinner, movie, coffee… take your pick?”

But Sam just shook his head. “I don’t think its going to be that simple,” he said, “Spencer doesn’t strike me as the dinner and a movie kind of guy, unless we were going to see some eight-hour Soviet sci-fi film, and I’m not sure if that’s first date material. I also promised I’d take him somewhere outside of a coffee shop for once.”

Jack came back into the kitchen, hanging up the phone. “The Smithsonian is doing this thing over the next few weeks where they’re open until midnight. I think there’s food and drinks, too.” All three men looked at him curiously, and he shrugged, “I’m on their mailing list.”

“Of course you are,” Cas said, reaching out from his place on the counter to affectionately ruffle his younger brother’s hair.

“That’s not a bad idea, Jack,” Sam said, pursing his lips as he mulled it over. Spencer certainly seemed like the kind of person who’d want to spend a night in a museum, and it would give them a chance to talk in a way watching a movie wouldn’t. Besides, if they weren’t going to be eating at a restaurant, he wouldn’t have to worry about some of his more intense compulsions getting in the way or being too noticeable. Speaking of, he thought ruefully, he grabbed a piece of paper towel and wiped down the spoon he was using before taking another bite.

“What case?”

Sam looked up at Jack, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean, ‘what case?’” he asked, not understanding the question.

“Earlier you said that you called him while he was on a case,” Jack explained, “What case was he on?”

“Yeah,” Kevin chimed in, “What  _does_  he do for a living? You mentioned the multiple doctorates, but you never said what his job was.”

Averting his gaze, Sam placed his fruit cup on the counter, busying himself with wiping down his spoon. The kitchen was suddenly silent, save for the rasp of paper towel, and Sam sighed. He knew he was eventually going to have to tell them, but he’d been secretly hoping to put it off a while longer. At least until he’d assuaged his own concerns on the matter.

He cleared his throat, picking up his fruit cup and taking a bite, only to immediately set it down and clean his spoon again. “He’s a, uh—” he stammered, keeping his gaze zeroed in on the utensil in his hand, and motored through at lightening fast speed, “He’s a criminal profiler for the FBI.”

The silence persisted for a few more moments, and Sam was certain if he looked up, he’d find three sets of wide eyes owlishly blinking at him. It was so quiet Sam could hear the leaky bathroom faucet dripping from across the apartment, the hum of their old refrigerator, and then…

“He’s a _what?!_ ”

“Sam, what the _hell_ were you _thinking_?!”

“That is so _cool!”_

Sam winced at the sudden bombardment. Kevin was looking at him like he wanted to throttle him, Cas looked like he was unsure of whether to have a panic attack or an aneurysm, and Jack… looked supremely excited. Like, over the freaking moon.

He decided to start with Jack.

“He works for the Behavioural Analysis Unit in Quantico,” Sam said, looking past his roommates and focussing entirely Jack, “He travels across the country helping catch serial killers.”

“Does he know?” Kevin demanded, standing up from his stool and walking into the kitchen, which was quickly becoming way too crowded.

Cas was still sitting on the counter, but Sam couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. He could feel the worry and disappointment rolling off him in waves, and he knew the second he looked up at him, Cas would give him those big blue cows eyes, and he’d be toast.

He’d gone over his explanation time and again in his head. He knew that he would have to eventually tell his friends about Spencer’s job, especially if they ever got serious. He just thought he’d have more _time_.

“No, he doesn’t,” Sam said, dumping both his fruit cup and his spoon into the sink, no longer hungry, “he knows me as Sam Campbell, he doesn’t know that’s not my real last name.”

“Would he though, if he found out?”

“Probably.” Shrugging his shoulders, Sam jammed his hands in his pockets and looked down at the floor like a kicked dog, “He’s got an eidetic memory and he profiles serial killers for a living. If he doesn’t know my dad, then he knows the name Winchester, at least.”

Kevin groaned dramatically, dropping his head into his hands and leaning up against the wall, while Jack just looked around nervously, unable to get a read on the room. He was gnawing at his lip nervously when Cas tossed him his wallet and told him to wait for the pizza man, and once he caught it, he was all too happy to leave the crowded kitchen full of angry, frustrated people that he didn’t understand.

“Are you going to tell him?” Cas asked.

“Of course not!” Sam laughed bitterly, “It was a struggle just asking him out! I don’t think telling him that my father was a serial killer who brainwashed me and my brother from birth would make for good first date conversation.”

“He’s going to find out eventually,” Cas said, as calmly as ever, but Sam saw him out of the corner of his eye, picking at the torn knees of his jeans. It was a nervous habit of his, usually as a precursor to what Jack affectionately referred to as “Cas’ Shame Cigarettes,” and he only ever did it when he was feeling worried, guilty or both.

“Cas is right,” Kevin agreed, “Jessica didn’t work with the FBI and she found out. So did Ruby. And what if things get serious? What if you move in together? He’s going to notice the salt and the cache of weapons eventually!”

“I thought you said that didn’t matter?”

“It doesn’t.” Cas snapped a string from the frayed knees of his jeans, absently watching as he let it fall to the floor, “And what happened to Jessica was tragic. But with Ruby…”

“She tore you apart, man,” Kevin finished for him, and Sam clenched his jaw, biting back the indignant denial that threatened to spill past his lips. “She found out about your dad and your brother, and what it did to you, and she used that to hurt you.”

“You were a mess, Sam. You almost lost your internship because of it.”

“How do you know that won’t happen again?”

Sam suddenly kicked his heel back, slamming it against the cabinet behind him as he shouted, “I don’t!”

Both Kevin and Cas startled at his outburst, and even Jack, who was flipping through TV channels in the living room, went quiet.

“I don’t know what will happen if— _when_ Spencer finds out about my dad.” Sam took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. His right arm trembled as he strained to keep still, to keep from tapping his finger off the counter top, and Cas tracked the movement subtly, frowning. “But,” he said, exhaling slowly and tapping his finger in his pocket to circumvent the need to do so where Kevin and Cas could see, “you two were the ones who told me I needed to stop being a coward. And now that I have, I really need you to _not_ take that back.”

He looked between them, and watched as a shadow of guilt passed over their faces.

“I’m terrified,” Sam said, gritting his teeth as his arm shuddered against his side, “And if I didn’t like this guy so much, I wouldn’t bother.”

“But you do,” Cas said, hopping off the counter and gently tugging on Sam’s arm, pulling his hand out of his pocket and placing it on the counter top, “and you’re trying. And that’s a good thing.” Sam relaxed, tapping his ring finger off the scratched-up Formica, and Cas smiled sadly, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Kevin said, all the bluster and indignation gone from his slender frame, “I’m sorry too. I just get worried.”

Sam nodded, “I know you do. Look, guys, I don’t—"

The doorbell rang suddenly, and Jack was at the door in a flash, paying and enthusiastically chatting with the pizza man. Kevin groaned and, smelling the pizza from inside the apartment, seemingly floated towards the door, following his nose and taking the conversation with him.

Cas and Sam both shook their heads, watching him go. “It’s amazing you two are still alive,” Cas said, crossing his arms over his chest, “when all you eat are fruit cups and pudding.”

“Thanks for dinner, Cas.”

“Can’t let you starve,” was his glib reply, the mood totally shifting with the promise of food. Sam moved towards the door, intending to relieve the poor pizza man from Jack’s good-natured, but long-winded banter, when Cas caught his arm, “Wait.”

He paused, turning at the waist with his eyebrow crooked, and he paled at the serious expression on Cas’ face. Sam thought they were finished with this conversation. “What is it, Cas?”

“Just be careful,” Cas said, letting go of Sam’s arm but still holding his attention, “and don’t get yourself hurt.”

“Not planning on it,” Sam replied, and Cas smiled, satisfied for now.

“Good.”

 

_October 23 rd, 2006:_

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Morgan said as he walked back to his desk, smiling amusedly at Spencer as he watched him pack his bag.

Spencer hummed in response, unable to keep the silly little grin off his face as he flitted about the office, grabbing casefiles he needed for the weekend in a veritable daze. Emily smiled at him from her desk, and then looked over a Morgan, shrugging her shoulders. They were used to his floaty good mood by now, having dealt with it for the past three days, though none of them had asked why. It wasn’t like Spencer was ever in a _bad_ mood, or hard to get along with, but it was rare to see him so excited over something he didn’t immediately tell them about.

Morgan chuckled as he sat on the corner of his desk, shaking his head in bemusement, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Pretty Ricky has a date.”

Emily clicked her tongue and shot Morgan a withering look, silently telling him to be nice. It might have bothered Spencer at one point that the thought of him having a date on a Friday night was so outlandish to his teammates, that they’d immediately assume the mere suggestion of it was meant to tease him. But not today. Today they were wrong: he did have a date, and before Morgan was finished laughing at his own joke, Spencer looked up and said, “I do.”

Emily frowned, “Do what?”

“Have a date,” Spencer replied, before slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading towards the elevators, “Have a good weekend!”

Though his back was turned, Spencer could hear as Morgan clambered off his desk, calling after him, “Hey, wait!” There was a rustle of papers, and then the sound of his feet stomping after him, echoing in the empty halls of their office, until he finally came to a stop beside Spencer. Not looking up, Spencer pressed the button for the elevator, twisting at the strap of his messenger bag, suddenly feeling incredibly boxed in as he heard the click of Emily’s boots approaching behind him.

“Reid,” said Emily, a teasing lilt to her voice and Spencer turned, looking over at her before glancing towards Morgan, “You can’t leave us hanging like that, and expect us to not have questions.”

Spencer pressed the elevator button again, a little more forcefully this time.

“Yeah man,” Morgan said, nudging him in the shoulder, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Spencer murmured, playing with the front pocket of his bag, “We only met a few weeks ago.”

“So, this is the first date?” Emily asked, and Spencer bit his lip and nodded, willing the elevator to hurry up, “Where are you going? Do you have anything planned, or are you just winging it?”

Morgan leaned up against the wall, situating himself between Spencer and the elevators call button, forcing Spencer to look up at him. “You’re not wearing that, right?” he chuckled, smiling playfully at the flush that forced itself to the surface of Spencer’s cheeks, “Can’t go rockin’ the stuffy professor look on a first date.”

Thankfully, the elevator dinged, and Spencer let out a sigh of relief. “Duly noted,” he said dryly, hopping onto the elevator and furiously pressing the “close door” button, “Goodnight guys.”

“C’mon, man!”

“Reid, we were just teasing!”

The doors closed, and he slumped back against the elevator wall, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Whatever had possessed him to tell them he had a date was beyond him, but even the incessant prying into his personal life couldn’t put a permanent damper on his good mood.

The train couldn’t get him home fast enough. He all but sprinted the ten minutes to his building from the station. And he _did_ sprint up the four flights of stairs to his walk-up apartment, unlocking and throwing open his door in record time because the second he exited the office, he realised that Morgan might be on to something.

He didn’t have anything that looked like it came from this century to wear.

Dropping his stuff by the front door and carefully locking his sidearm up in his safe, he hurried to shower and change. When was the last time he’d been on a date, he wondered as he furiously shampooed his hair? It was so long ago he could hardly remember, but it had been largely uneventful, ending in a tentative, awkward kiss in the passenger seat of their car and being told they’d call, only to never hear from or see them again.

What was he going to wear? Was there a dress code? He chastised himself for not asking what they were doing. He had no clue if they were going to a movie, to dinner, or something else. What if he was going to be walking around? What if he needed to bring something? He really needed more information; as it was, he felt woefully underprepared.

He decided, after drying (and attempting to style) his unruly hair, and brushing his teeth for the umpteenth time, on jeans and a button up shirt, forgoing the tie but unable to keep from adding a cardigan. He still looked like a “stuffy professor,” as Morgan had put it, and the jeans were stiff from only having been wore three times, but when he glanced in the mirror, he thought he looked alright. He didn’t look half bad, and he tried once again to tame his hair, but a quick look at the clock told him he didn’t have time to bother. Five more minutes and Sam would be there to pick him up, and he was already far too jittery and nervous.

Five minutes to _calm down_ then, he decided. He paced across his living room, plucking a book off his coffee table and sitting down in his armchair, flipping it open to a random page to distract himself from fretting. He could hardly focus, forcing himself to go at a much slower pace than was normal for him, trying to get caught up in the words on the page, rather than his incomprehensible nervousness.

It was just beginning to work when his cell phone rang.

Frowning, hoping that it wasn’t JJ saying they had a case, he flipped it open and said, “Reid.”

“Hey, Spence.”

He couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Sam’s voice. He’d been elated, positively giddy all day long about their date, about seeing him outside of their morning coffee shop meetings, that even talking to him on the phone was enough to start Spencer’s heart racing. “Hey Sam,” he said and looking up at the clock, realizing it was two minutes to seven, asked, “Do you need me to buzz you up? The door should be propped open.”

Sam didn’t respond right away, instead his voice caught when he tried to speak and he paused to heave a small sigh, and Spencer’s good mood was gone as suddenly as it had appeared. “You’re not coming, are you?” he asked.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam said, and Spencer bit his lip, trying to fight back the aching disappointment that churned in his gut, “but I got called into work for tonight. A good chunk of interns dropped out or transferred recently, and they’re undermanned. I tried to get out of it, but—”

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” Spencer interjected, and damn it, he meant it, “you’re a doctor, if you’re needed at the hospital, then you’re needed. I’m not going to expect you to put a date over your career and patients.”

There was a disbelieving huff on the other end of the line, and when Sam spoke again, he sounded relieved. “You’re amazing,” he said, seemingly without meaning too, as he coughed sharply, stuttered and added that, “I-I, uh, I’m not letting you off the hook, either.”

“I’m sorry?” Spencer asked, his cheeks burning red and suddenly very grateful they weren’t face to face for Sam to see him.

“Our date?” Sam was smiling, Spencer could hear it in his voice, “If I haven’t completely soured you on the whole experience. Would next Friday work?”

“Barring the BAU doesn’t get invited in on a case, yes.”

“Okay,” said Sam, and asked, “Will I see you tomorrow morning? I’d like the chance to apologize in person.”

Spencer smiled, “Of course.”

“Great.” Spencer heard a loud beep, the sound of a car door slamming shut, and suddenly Sam’s voice was amplified, louder in the enclosed space of his car, “Thank you, Spencer. I hope you have a wonderful night.”

“You too,” Spencer said softly, saying his goodbyes and flipping his cell phone shut. His apartment was suddenly too quiet, the only sound his own breathing and the faint murmur of his downstairs neighbours drifting through the floorboards. He sighed, dropping his phone on the coffee table and immediately shimmying out of his uncomfortable jeans. He wasn’t going anywhere that night; might as put on sweats and order too much Chinese take-away to sate his disappointment.

 

_October 24 th, 2006:_

It turns out seeing each other in the morning was going to be more literal than Sam had meant it.

As Spencer approached the coffee shop, he spotted Sam standing outside, nervously shifting between his feet and holding two disposable coffee cups. One was for him, as it was normal person sized, but the other was undoubtedly for Spencer: the extra-large cup and domed lid were like his caffeinated calling card.

Sam shot him an apologetic look the second he saw him, and Spencer knew he couldn’t stay long. He was already wearing scrubs (worn scrubs, by the look of the stains and wrinkles marring the front of his shirt), and he was checking his watch repeatedly, so he was obviously going to work.

However, Spencer couldn’t muster the heart to be upset even if he wanted to. The bags under Sam’s eyes were visible from across the street, and despite the nervous jittering he looked to be dead on his feet. He wondered if Sam had even gone home after his shift last night, or if he came right to the café, directly from the hospital.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam said once Spencer was in earshot, thrusting the extra-large caramel macchiato into his hands, “but I can’t stay. I’m technically on a split shift, so I only had two hours free, and it takes half an hour to get here from the hospital, so…”

“So, you need to leave,” Spencer finished for him, taking a sip from his cup to mask his disappointed frown, “that’s alright.”

“Is it?” Sam asked, “Really? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, I’ve bailed on you twice in under twenty-four hours, and you don’t need to be cool with that.”

Spencer smiled, charmed by the guilty look on Sam’s face, like a puppy caught chewing the couch. “It’s fine,” he assured him, reaching out and patting Sam on the arm on instinct, “Really, I understand. You know what my job is like, and you know my hours. It could have just as easily been me who was called into work last night, and this morning. Besides, you look exhausted.” He pursed his lips, looking Sam up and down, “You should have used your two hours to sleep, instead of coming down here.”

“I needed to see you,” said Sam, smiling bashfully and ducking his head, his hair falling in front of his face as he stared down at his feet, “I needed to apologize in person and just make sure that we,” he gestured back and forth between the two of them, “were okay.”

In a fit of bravery, Spencer reached up, skirting his fingertips along Sam’s cheek as he gently tucked his hair back behind his ear. “Never been better,” he said softly.

Sam looked up at him, his expression unreadable, and Spencer took a step back, pulling his hand away when Sam reached up and grasped his wrist. Coffee still in his other hand, Sam locked eyes with him, pressing his forearm against the slope of Spencer’s lower back and pulling him in gently. Spencer gasped when their thighs brushes, their hips bumping clumsily together as Sam relinquished his hold on his wrist, sliding his fingertips down the length of Spencer’s arm and up his neck, tangling in his hair.

And then he tugged Spencer forward, closing the scant inches between them before kissing him softly.

It was a chaste kiss, nothing more than an innocent press of their lips but the instant they touched it felt as if Spencer’s heart stopped beating. All thought ground to a screeching halt, and for once his mind was silent, struck dumb with surprise. He stiffened, standing still in Sam’s arms with his hands and coffee cup pressed uselessly against Sam’s chest, his eyes wide as he realized he couldn’t seem to will himself to move, to reciprocate, to _do something_.

Once Spencer got his brain working again however, it was too late. He felt Sam shift backwards, pulling his hands back and looking down at Spencer guiltily, his brow furrowed as though he thought he’d completely misread the situation. He stammered, took a step back and began to utter an apology, and that just wouldn’t do. Spencer had been agonizing over his feelings for him since their first introductions, was too elated at the fact that Sam was actually interested in _him_ , and too stunned that he had _kissed him_ to let Sam assume he’d done anything wrong.

Spencer reached out with his free hand, twisting his fingers in the front of Sam’s scrubs before he was even aware he was doing it, and hauled Sam forward and down, forcing the taller man back to his height. Lifting up onto his toes, and managing to close his eyes this time, he used Sam’s sharp inhale as his guide, seeking out his softly parted lips with his own.

There was only a momentary pause while Sam presumably got his mind on board with what was happening, and Spencer could feel the shift. He could feel the tension dissipate under his palm as he pressed against Sam’s chest, as he slid it up to grasp at his broad shoulders. He felt as Sam moved, winding his arms gently around Spencer’s waist tentatively at first, as thought he were afraid to scare him off, and then more forcefully, his hands squeezing at Spencer’s hips and pulling him in close, preceded by the sound of a coffee cup splashing off the sidewalk. And he felt, with an elated thrill, when Sam kissed him back.

His heart was beating so wildly Spencer could only take little sips of breath, sighing contentedly when their lips parted, only for a moment. A part of him was vaguely aware they were standing on a busy street, in front of multiple passersby and a busy intersection, and that Sam was going to be horribly late for work. But the part of him that was enticed by the feel of Sam’s lips against his, warm and soft, and the way he rolled Spencer’s lower lip between his teeth had it completely overruled.

It wasn’t until a car horn blared, and some asshole screamed a gross slur at them as he sped away, that they managed to pull away from each other.

Sam chuckled as he took a step back, his cheeks red as he struggled to relinquish his hold on Spencer’s hips. He was smiling bashfully from ear to ear as he said, “I’m gonna be so late.”

“You’re also down a coffee.” Spencer looked over his shoulder and down to see Sam’s poor cup lying in a pool of coffee on the ground, then back up to Sam with a shy quirk of his lips as he handed him his own, “If you can handle the nauseating amount of sugar, you can take mine.”

Barking out a laugh, Sam rubbed at the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I can,” he said, covering Spencer’s hand with his own and guiding it back towards him, lingering longer than necessary to timidly stroke Spencer’s knuckles with his thumb, “I’ll put up with nurse Mosely’s sorry excuse for coffee, so you can keep yours.” He took his hand back, and looked at his watch, grimacing, “Shit.”

“Go,” Spencer told him, gesturing towards the metro up the road, “I’ll see you on Friday.”

He wasn’t prepared for the blinding smile Sam gave him, but he appreciated it, his blood thrumming so fast he could hear it coursing through him. With a nod, and a hesitant step backwards that told Spencer he would rather be there with him, just standing in the street, than anywhere else, Sam agreed. “See you Friday,” he said, before turning around and jogging up the road to the subway, crowds on the sidewalk parting swiftly out of his way.

Spencer watched him go, his stomach twisted up in nervous, giddy knots, until he heard a rattling sound to his left. Glancing over, his eyes widened in surprise when he saw Lisa tapping at the window, grinning at him. He waved timidly, embarrassed when she gave him an over the top thumbs up and he sighed, forcing himself to smile politely back at her. He didn’t think they’d had an audience, but he did suppose she’d had ring side seats to the Doctors Campbell and Reid Show for the past month now; he couldn’t blame her for being invested.

It didn’t kill his mood, either. No, he basically floated to work, smiling stupidly throughout his entire train ride, prompting other passengers to give him a wide berth (another bonus!). And by the time he got to work, he had almost forgotten the conversation he’d had the previous night with Morgan and Prentiss, the date that never was, and the missed connection coffee. He was still drifting in his head, lost in memories of Sam’s hands pulling him close, his heated gaze and the feel of his lips.

That was until he got to his desk, however, and both Morgan and Prentiss descended on him like vultures.

“So?” Morgan asked, cocking his hip and perching on the corner of Spencer’s desk.

“So, what?” Spencer replied, playing dumb as he sipped at his coffee.

Morgan rolled his eyes, “So, how was your date?”

“Oh, I didn’t go,” Spencer said, slipping out of his jacket and throwing it over the back of his chair, “Sam got called in to the ICU and had to cancel.”

“Finally!” Morgan exclaimed, clapping his hands together once and grinning, “We have a name, _and_ an occupation!”

“Timing, Morgan,” Prentiss admonished, giving him a little shove before turning her gaze onto Spencer, “I’m sorry Reid.”

When Spencer just shrugged and sat down, Morgan cocked his head to the side, observing him a moment before mentioning, “You don’t seem too disappointed.”

“I’m not,” Spencer said, and glancing up at the two of them, seeing they were definitely not satisfied, sighed heavily and explained, “We rescheduled.”

“Well then, that’s good news,” Prentiss said with a smile, tugging Morgan away by the crook of his arm in a silent bid to leave Spencer alone, “Come on, let him get settled.”

“Hit me up if you need restaurant recommendations,” Morgan called over his shoulder, “I know a guy!”

“Of _course_ you do,” Prentiss said, patting him on the back and laughing when he waved her off.

Spencer smiled as he watched them go, still flying high and totally unfazed. He’d spent the better part of last night trying to eat his way through any lingering disappointment, and the morning worrying about Sam changing his mind. But now? He’d had his fears dashed so completely, his perceptions upended in a matter of days, and he found himself thinking that Friday couldn’t get there soon enough.

 

_October 30 th, 2006:_

Sam was passed out in his bed, pillow over top of his head to block out the late afternoon sun, when his phone rang.

He groaned, clapping a hand over his ear (over top of the pillow). He just got off a night of being on call, wherein he only managed four hours of sleep stretched out sporadically over four hours. He’d been on his feet for (basically) thirty-six hours straight, and he’d only managed to fall asleep…

He lifted the pillow and glared over at his alarm clock, which blinked four-thirty at him.

… three hours ago.

Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling, debating whether to let his still ringing phone go to voicemail. He needed to get at least two more hours in before his date that night, or he’d be piss poor company. But if it was a work emergency, they would just keep calling till he picked up, and if it was _Spencer_ , he’d feel like a dick, so with a frustrated sigh he grabbed his cell, flipping it open and answering, “Hello?”

“Hello, Sam?”

He sat straight up, his pillow flying off the bed and landing on the floor. “Hey, Spencer,” he said, brushing his hair back from his face and clearing his throat, chasing back the fog of sleep that still hung over his head, “Yeah, hi. Hello.”

“Did… I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

Sam smiled into the receiver, picturing the furrowed brow and nervous lip bite that most likely accompanied Spencer’s question. “No— I mean, yeah,” he said, not wanting Spencer to feel bad, but not willing to lie, either, “I was on call last night, but I needed to be getting up soon, anyways.” There was a curious hum on the other side of the line, and a pregnant pause, so Sam asked, “What’s up?” Another hum, and a strange rattling sound, “Where are you?”

Spencer sighed, “On a plane to Guantanamo.”

Slumping back against his head board, all Sam could say was, “Oh.”

 “I shouldn’t have told you that,” Spencer said quickly, his voice suddenly hushed, “It violates seven-point-one terms of my contract with the FBI, and two federal laws.”

“Seven-point-one?”

“Section F, subsection b, doesn’t deal explicitly with extra-departmental confidentiality, but makes mention of it.”

“Wow,” Sam said, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand, “That’s specific. You really weren’t joking about the whole eidetic memory thing, were you?”

“Why would I joke about that?” Spencer asked, and Sam could hear his tone of voice change. He was getting his back up, but he didn’t sound insulted, he… sounded embarrassed.

No shit, Sam thought, mentally chastising himself. This was the guy who thought Sam was playing some cruel joke on him for weeks, just because he was paying attention to him. They never spoke of it, but it was clear Spencer had experienced his fair share of teasing and bullying by virtue of his intellect. The kid graduated high school at twelve, and just surviving public school was difficult. Sam couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been to not only be super smart, but a child in the veritable lion’s den.

“I’m sorry Spence, I’m still half asleep,” he said, grunting as he flopped back down into bed, “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing. It’s fascinating.”

“ _What’s_ fascinating?”

“You,” Sam corrected, biting his lip when he realized how that must sound, “You-your memory. Your brain, I find your… intellect, fascinating.”

“Oh,” was Spencer’s hesitant reply, and Sam held his breath through another long pause, until he finally added, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Sam said, eager to change the subject, “So, if you’re headed to… you know where right now, I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you’re not going to be back in DC for seven, huh?”

“No,” Spencer said, sounding crestfallen, “I’m sorry, Sam, I tried to stay behind on the off chance we’d wrap up early, or that they wouldn’t need me, but—”

“They need you,” Sam finished for him, “of course they do. Without you on the case, they’d be sailing the ship with only half the crew.”

“I think you’re giving me too much credit.”

“And I think you’re not giving yourself enough, Doctor.”

Spencer laughed at that, and Sam couldn’t help but chuckle along with him. His laugh was infectious, even over the phone, and Sam could almost see the shy smile that accompanied it. That was enough to send a thrill of affection surging through him, warming his cheeks with a traitorous blush he was so glad no one was there to witness.

Though Sam missed him terribly in that moment.

“It’s alright,” he reassured Spencer, “We’ll reschedule. Friday’s clearly don’t work, so let’s try a Tuesday. Nothing bad has ever happened on a Tuesday.”

“It is the safest day of the week to drive, statistically speaking. But I think you’re forgetting about Black Tuesday, and theft such as pickpocketing and grand theft auto spikes at around mid-afternoon every week on Tuesday’s, and—”

“Okay, I get it,” Sam said, cutting Spencer off mid rant, “Tuesday’s can be bad, too. But I’m usually free then, and if one of is presumably available, then that cuts the chance we’ll have to cancel in half.” He smirked, asking, “Right, Mister statistician?”

“Not technically,” Spencer replied teasingly, “but close enough.”

“I’ll take it.” Sam rolled over, stretching out his stiff, sleepy limbs with a short groan, “I should probably get up, and you should get back to… whatever you’re doing.” Spencer hummed in agreement, saying his goodbyes, but before he could hang up, Sam assured him, “I’ll see you on Tuesday. Seven o’clock, come hell or high water.”

“See you then, Sam.”

As soon as the line went dead, Sam clambered out of bed, tossing back the sheets and pulling on a pair of sweats before bee-lining straight into the living room. His bedroom door slammed open, and Kevin looked up from his place on the couch, startled away from his soap operas and medical textbooks. “Oh, hey,” he said, “I didn’t think you’d be up yet.”

“I got a call, and I need a favour.” Sam flopped down onto the couch next to Kevin and asked, “You’re Doctor Fitzgerald’s favorite, right?”

Kevin eyed him warily, “I wouldn’t say I’m his favorite. I was just the only newly minted medical intern to place a Foley cath without assistance on their first attempt. That hardly qualifies as _‘favorite’_.”

“But since then he’s paged you in on all of his complicated patients, and you’re the first one he looks to for an opinion,” Sam looked at him pointedly, and added, “or for suggestions.”

“What do you want, Sam?”

“I need next Tuesday off, guaranteed.”

“No,” Kevin said, glaring at him, “I’m not calling in a favor with our attending just so you can go to some dumb foreign movie or sports… thing.”

“It’s for my date with Spencer.”

Deflating a little, Kevin pursed his lips and studied him. He knew that Sam had to cancel twice already, but he had to ask, “I thought that was tonight?”

“Spencer is headed somewhere highly classified for a case, and he’s not going to be back in DC for a while.”

“You guys are pretty bad at this, huh?”

Sam nodded, “Terrible. That’s why I need a sure thing… a day where I’m not going to be on-call or scheduled for a late shift, guaranteed.”

“If I do this,” Kevin said, taking his time and mulling over the conditions of his acquiescence, the devious look in his eyes enough to make Sam nervous, “then I’ll need you to do _me_ a favour.”

“Name your price.”

“You have to be my medical geek the next time I need to write a paper,” Kevin decided with a curt nod, “and you have to present it with me, if it gets selected.”

Sam bit his tongue to keep from outright refusing on the spot, and Kevin cocked a brow, challenging him. Kevin knew he hated public speaking, and they learned their first year of medical school that when it came to working together, it was like mixing oil and water. Kevin was a perpetual planner, so hyper organized that he even had their pantry alphabetized. Sam, on the other hand, was a scattered intellectual, his desk and notebooks existing in a state of organized chaos. When they worked together it was hell, each of them butting heads the whole time until they were finished.

But, even though they didn’t mesh well together, they were both good at what they did and took their work seriously. Their collaborations were always impeccable, and Sam knew that, were they to write a paper together, it would absolutely, one-hundred-percent be selected, and he would have to get up on a podium in front of a jury of his peers to stammer and sweat through an awkward, uncomfortable presentation.

Kevin knew what he was doing, too. Ever the overachiever, the twenty-four-year-old doctor _and_ surgeon, the wunderkind from Quaints-ville, Michigan, Kevin had been saddled with more work than he could handle as of late. Working with Sam would guarantee a load off for him, because he could trust Sam to do a flawless job on their paper, _and_ it would look good on him when, upon seeing poor Sam struggling through his presentation, Kevin could swoop in and save the day like the good, benevolent doctor he was.

He was an evil mastermind, but he was still his friend. And since Sam was desperate for this favour, he eventually agreed.

“Great!” Kevin said cheerily, shaking his hand, “I’ll put in a good word for you with Doctor Fitzgerald tonight. Can’t wait to work with you again, roomie!”

As Kevin hopped off the couch, whistling happily all the way to the kitchen, Sam slumped back, surprised to find he was still in as good a mood as ever. He was guaranteed Tuesday night, and barring Spencer was needed out of town for a case, he’d finally get to take him out on this date, that had been almost a month now in planning.

Come hell or high water, he’d said, he was gonna date the _hell_ out of Spencer Reid. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that the rating has gone up.

_November 3rd, 2006:_

When Spencer opened his apartment door that night at 7pm, he expected Sam to greet him. He expected to respond, to grab his coat and head out to Sam’s car. He expected words to be exchanged at the very least, but that wasn’t what he got.

Not that he minded, he mused, moaning softly and parting his lips under Sam’s, feeling Sam’s grip on his back tighten as he was hauled closer, pressed tightly against Sam’s broad chest and kissed within an inch of his life.

He wasn’t expecting Sam to show up sandwiched under layers of plaid and an oversized jacket, a shy smile stretching his lips and a book in hand. He’d tried to explain to Spencer why he showed up with a first edition copy of _Trilby,_ but he never got a word out. Sam had taken one look at him, his heated gaze slicing through Spencer like a hot knife through butter, tracking the motion of Spencer’s tongue when it darted out to lave at his suddenly too dry lips, and dropped the book to the ground.

They moved at the same time, Sam grasping at Spencer’s waist and pulling him close, while Spencer clung to his upper arms, pulling him down. He walked backwards through the door into his apartment, his shoulders bumping against the wall he backed into blindly, and Sam followed him, pulling his hands off Spencer’s hips just long enough to cup the back of his head, so he wouldn’t knock it off the wall.

Spencer smiled against Sam’s lips at the thoughtful gesture, his mind pleasantly blank after an evening of non-stop _thinking_. He’d fretted all the way to the metro about what he was going to wear, worried up to his apartment about what they were going to do, and bemoaned his own inability to ask where they were going. He’d fussed over his clothes (too old and ill-fitting), his hair (to long and unruly), and spent the last thirty minutes zoning out on the couch when he realized it was too late, and there was nothing he could do to fix any of it.

Clearly, there was nothing to worry about. He hummed softly, and Sam responded in turn, crowding him up against the wall and kissing him senseless. He’d never had a date start out so well, Spencer thought as he scraped his fingernails down Sam’s shoulders, and even though there was a part of him that wanted to worry about how unlike him this was, there was another part that reminded him that this was what he had been waiting to do all weekend long.

Sam pulled away eventually, chuckling nervously, his breath fanning against Spencer’s cheeks across the negligible distance between them. Leaning his forehead against Spencer’s, he smiled as he tried to collect himself, though he was seemingly unable to take his hands off of his hips, his thumbs running over them in lazy, insistent circles. “I guess I should have said hello,” Sam murmured, his cheeks reddening to match his kiss-flushed lips, “but I’ve been thinking of doing that for weeks. I missed you.”

And just like that, Spencer’s nervous anxiety was back with a vengeance, heralded by his heart hammering violently in his chest. He’d missed him, thought about kissing him, practically jumped him the instant Spencer opened the door… what was he expecting this night to entail? Besides which, what had _Spencer_ been thinking? He’d not had much experience with dating, and he’d most certainly _never_ kicked one off with a harried make-out in his foyer. He flushed hotly, chewing on his lower lip and looking down at his hands, still firmly pressed into Sam’s chest.

 _Get out of your head_ , _Spencer_. He glanced up at Sam, trying to get a read on his expression and for once, Sam was an open book. He was genuinely happy to see him but was getting more nervous every second that ticked by without a response from Spencer. As his brow furrowed, his upturned eyes showcasing his worry, Spencer patted at his chest reassuringly, hoping to assuage any fear that he’d overstepped or said something wrong. “I did too,” he said, toying absently with a button on Sam’s shirt, “on all counts.”

Sam frowned, “You seem nervous.”

“I am nervous,” he replied with a shrug, “I don’t know if you gathered this about me, but I don’t get out much.”

With a sharp laugh, Sam relaxed, the tension bleeding out from under Spencer’s palms. “Oh good,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “Neither do I.”

“Well, at least we’re on the same page,” Spencer said, smoothing his hands down the front of his _own_ rumpled button up, “I feel I should confess that I don’t normally make a habit of starting my dates like this.”

“We’re definitely on the same page, then.” Spencer raised a questioning brow, but Sam just added solemnly, “The last time I went on a date, it ended with me sleeping in my car, because she locked me out of the cabin we were staying at. All weekend. Didn’t start any better, either.”

Spencer winced. “My last date started as a security detail and ended in her almost being murdered by a stalker.”

“Ouch.” Sam nodded sympathetically and glanced at his watch. “Well,” he said, holding a hand out to Spencer, “As much as I’d love to spend the rest of the night rehashing failed relationships in your foyer, I promised to take you out, and I mean to keep it.”

Biting back the part of him that wanted to invite Sam further into his home, Spencer took his hand with a smile. So far, so good, he thought, and he let Sam lead him out of his apartment towards his car.

“This is an old building,” Sam commented as they walked down the stairs, having to duck to avoid hitting his head off the landings low ceiling, “and its in a great neighbourhood. How’d you manage to find this place?”

“A friend of mine lives here,” Spencer said, opening the reinforced wooden door at the foot of the stairs. A blast of chilly night air hit him immediately, and he stepped out into the cold, glad for the extra layers he’d decided to bundle into, “He kept an eye out for vacancies when I first moved here and helped me snap it up before it even went on the market.”

“Someone from work?” Sam asked, buttoning up his jacket as he walked through the door.

“No, a professor at Georgetown,” Spencer added, following Sam was he walked down the cement staircase towards the street, “I guest lecture there on occasion.”

That gave Sam pause, and he stopped in his tracks, turning to face Spencer for a moment with a grin. “Of course you do,” Sam said, reaching out to grab Spencer’s hand once more, this time lacing their fingers together and tugging him along, “Come on, my car’s parked down here.”

Turning the corner onto a side street, Spencer let himself be led by the hand, darting past rows of compact cars and SUV’s, but when they came to a stop by Sam’s car, he gasped. “Oh, wow,” he breathed, glancing up at Sam’s proud, knowing smile before looking down at the mint condition, classic muscle car they were standing beside, “this is yours?”

“Technically, its my brothers,” Sam admitted sheepishly, “He’s the reason she still runs like a dream… I’m just looking after her while he’s out of town.”

“How selfless of you,” Spencer said, gliding past him and into the passenger seat, taking in the pristine interior, “he’s done a great job.”

“Yeah, the Impala is Dean’s baby.” Sam climbed into the driver’s seat, frowning when he landed on a crumpled pair of scrubs, pulling them out from under him and tossing them into the back seat. He turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life, talk radio murmuring from its speakers, the seatbelt light clicking softly.

“Where is he?” Sam turned to him, tilting his head in confusion, and Spencer elaborated, “Your brother.” Sam tapped his right ring finger twice off the wheel, and Spencer winced, “Never mind.”

“No,” Sam said, running his palm along the wheel, not looking at Spencer but out at the street, at the lamplight shining off the tarmac, “No, its okay. I can talk about him.”

“But you don’t need to.” Sam clenched his jaw and inhaled sharply, still not looking at him, so Spencer turned in his seat, hesitating only a moment before reaching out and laying his hand on Sam’s thigh. Gripping the wheel tightly, Sam looked first down at Spencer’s hand, and then up at his face, and Spencer said earnestly, “If it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t need to talk about him, or your father.” Another two taps on the wheel, “I understand.”

Sam looked at him disbelievingly, so Spencer sighed, squeezing his thigh lightly and looking out the windshield, barely managing to whisper, “I know what its like to have things you’d rather not talk about.”

This wasn’t how he’d anticipated this night going. Sam immediately looked down at his lap, both hands still glued to the steering wheel and Spencer sat silent and still, worried he’d overstepped. He should never have said anything, what person wants their dirty laundry aired on their first date? He should have just ignored it, let Sam think he’d not recognized his compulsions and their origin, and there wouldn’t have been any issue. They’d be well on their way, no awkward tension or painful silences, and Spencer wouldn’t be feeling like the worlds biggest asshole for bringing up the one thing Sam probably didn’t want to address at all.

So caught up in mentally scolding himself, Spencer didn’t notice Sam had relinquished his iron grip on the wheel until his large, warm palm came to rest on top of his hand, his fingers wrapping around Spencer’s and pressing his hand into Sam’s thigh. He looked up, surprised to find Sam smiling at him, still nervous but not nearly so frightened. “If we could just avoid talking about my dad and Dean, that would actually be a big help.”

“Of course,” Spencer said quickly, eager to do anything that would help to relieve some of Sam’s stress, to help him feel comfortable, “And if there’s anything else you’d like to avoid, anything at all, just tell me.” He turned his hand, and Sam immediately laced their fingers, squeezing gently, “its no trouble at all.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, taking his hand back and laying it on the wheel, and Spencer reluctantly sat back, buckling his seatbelt as Sam put the car in drive. “The same goes for you,” he added, and Spencer huffed amusedly.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he said, “Deflection is my specialty. You couldn’t get me to talk about my baggage if you wanted to.” He shot Sam a pointed sideways glance, “But don’t try.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And suddenly, it was as if nothing had happened. They talked amiably, fretting back and forth about work, joking that one or both of them was going to get called in. When they were stopped at a red light, Sam sheepishly explained that, “I had to make a deal with Kevin to guarantee tonight off work.” Spencer didn’t fully comprehend what he meant by “medical geek,” but the way he spoke led him to believe it was a huge time sink and commitment.

“Well, I hope tonight its worth it,” he said, and Sam smiled.

“It is.”

“We’ve not even made it out of your car, yet,” Spencer said, “isn’t it a little early to give it a final verdict?”

But Sam just shook his head, and as the light turned green and he pulled into the driveway of a hole in the wall diner on the edge of the city, he said, “I don’t see how it could get better than this.”

Though the restaurant wasn’t what he’d expected, Spencer wasn’t one to pass up greasy spoon diner food. He’d confessed his love of a good burger during one of their morning coffee dates, to Sam’s complete chagrin. While Sam would be the first to admit his diet had been lacking as of late, apparently, he tried to eat well when he could. The same could not be said of Spencer, who favoured take-out over anything, the greasier the better… really, it was a wonder he was as slight as he was.

Spencer started unbuckling his seat belt, but Sam held up a hand to stop him, saying, “You don’t have to come in. I’m just picking up our order, then we’re going somewhere else.”

“Where?” Spencer asked.

Sam smiled and shook his head, “It’s a surprise.” He climbed out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition and saying, “I’ll be right back,” before closing the door behind him.

Spencer did his seatbelt up again, if only to stop the insistent, flashing light, and frowned after Sam’s retreating form. Watching as he sprinted up to the diner and ducked inside, Spencer worried his lower lip and wondered where they were going. Not for the first time (not even the first time that night) he found himself feeling a little unsettled by how little he knew going into this. Sam had taken the reigns from the get go, and Spencer hadn’t questioned a single thing, and up until now, he hadn’t needed to. They’d gone from Spencer’s apartment to a car… nothing crazy about that. But this?

It was freezing outside, so he couldn’t imagine they’d be doing anything outdoors. Was Sam intending to take him back to his apartment? Pretty presumptuous, Spencer mused, and besides, that couldn’t be the case, either. He had roommates, and Sam had already mentioned Cas and Jack were both home tonight.

So, what could they possibly be doing?

Glancing into the backseat of the Impala, Spencer immediately noticed the cooler nestled in the footwell and the blankets rolled up beside it. There was a flashlight on the backseat, and a leather roll next to the scrubs Sam had tossed back there… the kind of roll you’d use to store and transport knives.

It felt as though someone had doused him with ice water, and Spencer was suddenly completely sobered, the good mood he’d been in snuffed out and replaced with heady caution. Why would he have knives in the back seat of his car? It wasn’t like Sam was a chef, or a tradesperson, someone who used knives for their job. He was a _doctor_. And where was he taking him, anyways? Looking around, Spencer barely recognized where they were, besides the fact they were well out of the city proper. It looked as though they were headed to the conservation area, a heavily wooded locale with a tiny residential population. It would be secluded, and if they continued on this road, the traffic would quickly die off, and in only a few yards, so would the streetlights.

Spencer took a deep breath and groped around his feet, breathing a sigh of relief when he realized he’d remembered to bring his bag. Pulling it into his lap, he took a quick count of everything inside of it, double checking he had his phone, and tripled checking that he had his sidearm, stashed in the main pocket with the safety on, just in case.

What did he really know about Sam anyways? He knew he was a doctor at Bethesda General, but only because he’d told him so. Spencer had never thought to check his credentials. He knew his name and age, but who could say whether he was lying or not? Anyone could _say_ anything, and Spencer knew better than anyone how manipulative people could be when they set their mind to it. Spencer should be able to tell if Sam was in any way disingenuous, he was a profiler after all, but what if he was so blinded by his personality, his awkward charm and his charisma that he’d failed to see Sam was some kind of _psycho_ who was planning on taking him out into the wilderness to do god _knows_ what, and—

“Hey,” Sam said as he opened the drivers side door, sliding into his seat with a bag full of food and a concerned look on his face, “are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Spencer stared at him unblinking, his hand still shoved in his bag and his mouth agape, his heart hammering in his chest and his blood roaring in his ears. Taking a moment to come back to his senses, Spencer dropped his bag back to the floor and nodded dumbly, taking the food from Sam so he could buckle his seat belt, and handing it back when beckoned. He didn’t say a word, just watched Sam carefully as he placed the food in the back seat, put the car in drive and slowly rolled over to the red light that would lead them back onto the main road.

Some talk radio program droned in the background, and Spencer held his breath when Sam flicked on the turn signal. If he signaled left, they’d be heading back into the city, back to civilization and safety. If he signaled right, they’d be going further out, heading into the woods, leaving behind the comforting bustle of people and lights for the dark, secluded wilderness.

Sam flipped the turn signal, and Spencer crumpled against the passenger door as it began rhythmically announcing their right-hand turn.

The light turned green before Spencer could find his voice, and when he found he finally could speak, his voice cracked uncomfortably. “So, you’re not going to tell me where we’re going?” he asked, and Sam shook his head.

“Nope,” he said, speeding up as they drove past the few scattered homes, which were fast becoming few and far between, “I told you, it’s a surprise. Nothing life changing, but I hope you’ll like it all the same.”

Spencer hummed in agreement, biting the inside of his lip as he looked out the window, trying to rationalize the situation in his head. There was every possibility he was fretting over nothing; he didn’t often date, and when he did, it was even rarer he would be dating a man. He was usually the one making plans, and even when he didn’t, they were pretty standard: dinner, movie, coffee, or something along that vein. One guy in college _had_ taken him hiking, but that was during the day in the middle of summer, not the dead of night in late autumn, and he’d still ended up being a total creep.

Maybe it was just his job getting under his skin, like it had when he’d started having nightmares. You didn’t face the kinds of things he did every day and just leave them in the office when your work was done… they stuck with you. He could just be overreacting, assuming the worst of Sam given the strange circumstances he found himself in at the moment, all because he’d seen very similar scenarios play out all throughout his career, though usually with young women. Maybe he was seeing passing similarities to every remote rape and murder case he’d ever worked on, and it was setting his instincts to high gear. Really, that had to be it, right? It was _Sam_ after all.

Sam, who was sweet and gentle, who’d woken up early every weekday for months just to spend a few hours with him before work.

Sam, who was a considerate, talented young doctor, and who challenged Spencer intellectually in a way he’d not had the pleasure of experiencing since grad school.

But also, the same Sam who had all but stalked him for weeks before finally talking to him. Who watched him surreptitiously and obsessed over him.

And Sam, who had a secret and obviously traumatic past, one he kept shrouded but that manifested itself in obsessive tendencies and compulsive behaviour.

Spencer felt like a balloon filled to capacity, so full of tension he feared he might burst. They drove in near silence, with only passing moments of casual conversation breaking through the hum of the tires on the pavement, and the rumble of the engine. Sam at least seemed oblivious to Spencer’s internal freak out, humming carelessly to himself as he drove down the dark, empty road. That’s good, Spencer thought with some relief, at least he wasn’t expecting him to panic.

 _If he needed to panic_.

Because there was still the distinct possibility he was wrong about Sam. It wasn’t very often that Spencer’s first impression of someone was off. He was a good judge of character, he had to be, given his career, and normally when he met someone, he could figure out within the first ten minutes whether they were safe or not.

But, he’d been wrong about Sam at first, hadn’t he? Spencer gulped, sinking further into his seat and looking out the window, counting the mile markers as they passed him by. He’d thought Sam was a creep, _that_ had been his first impression. A weirdo stalker who made him uncomfortable. It was only after he’d gotten to know him, given him a chance to redeem himself, that Spencer had begun to see him in a different light. Had started to like him.

What if his first instinct was correct, and he’d only convinced himself he was after the fact? It wouldn’t be the first time. There were many recorded instances wherein victims had gone along with or dated their eventual aggressors despite their initial revulsion towards them, just because they were handsome. What if he had allowed himself to be blinded by Sam’s good looks and his charm, allowed his judgement to be clouded by hormones and attraction, and was now being taken out to the middle of nowhere so Sam could hurt him? Hadn’t Spencer already stepped outside of his comfort zone that night? He’d made out with Sam in the entryway of his apartment without so much as saying hello! That wasn’t like him at all!

Glancing at Sam out of the corner of his eye, Spencer surreptitiously sized him up. If it came down to a contest of strength, there was no way he could defend himself. Bureau-mandated hand-to-hand training aside, Sam had four inches and almost a hundred pounds on him. There was no way he could outrun him either; Sam jogged five miles every single morning… Spencer’s only exercise came from the odd chase during an active case, and mandatory fitness tests every five years.

He had his sidearm at least. He just had to make sure he always had his bag on him, and that Sam didn’t get his hands on the knife roll in the back.

“Here we are,” Sam said, and Spencer felt his heart sink when he realised they _were_ at the conservation area, pulling off the road into the park itself. Sam didn’t stop at the parking lot either; he turned onto a dirt road and kept driving straight into the woods, the trees closing in on them from both sides.

Spencer gulped nervously and forced himself to take a steadying breath. “Where are we going?” he asked again, not expecting an answer.

But to his surprise, Sam pointed off to the right, the same direction the dirt road was winding, and said, “Just up ahead. There’s a cliff face where the road ends, we’ll get out there.”

“We’re getting out?” Spencer asked, keeping his voice level and calm, “Isn’t it a little cold?”

“We won’t be cold,” Sam assured him, though Spencer shivered at the implication, pressing further into the door, “don’t worry, I came prepared.”

Spencer slowly pulled his bag up onto the seat.

Seconds felt like hours as they slowly drove down the dirt road, only their headlights and the moon illuminating their path. The droning voice on the radio sounded deafening in the quiet cabin of the car, and Spencer needed to remind himself to breathe, to act normal. No need to let Sam know he was on to him, if Sam was even up to anything.

Eventually, after rolling up hill a little while, the trees parted, and Spencer had to squint as he was bombarded by the light of the city and sky. Sam wasn’t kidding about the cliff; they were up really high, and it was a sheer drop, only marked by a small wooden guardrail and a few pay-per-use binoculars. Over the cliff there was the skyline of the city, and Spencer had to admit it looked beautiful. It was a crisp, clear night and all of the lights in the city stood out in stark relief to the dark, black sky. Above it hung the bright, full moon and a large smattering of stars, only somewhat hidden by the lights of the city below.

The car rolled to a stop, and Sam turned the key, killing the engine. He snapped off his seatbelt, grabbing the food from the back seat and kicking open the driver’s side door. Apparently, he was expecting Spencer to follow him, and after placing the food on the hood of the car, Sam said, “Come on, I’m going to need your help carrying some of this stuff.”

“No,” Spencer said, sitting up straight and shoving his hand in his bag. He reached around until he found the butt of his gun, keeping the safety on but his finger next to the trigger, “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where we are, and what we’re doing.”

His words struck a nerve, apparently. Sam’s posture changed instantly, and he ducked back into the car, one knee on the seat and one hand on the roof. He moved so quickly, so unexpectedly that Spencer panicked, thinking he was crawling back in. Instantly he was assaulted by the imagined image of Sam grabbing him by the leg, dragging him out of the car forcibly and Spencer pulled his gun from his bag, plastering his back against the door and clicking the safety off, yelling at Sam to “Back off!”

“Holy shit!”

Sam most certainly backed off. He moved out of the car so fast it rocked on its axels, and he stood in the open doorway with his hands in the air. “Jesus, Spencer,” he said, unable to look him in the eye as he was standing at full height, but Spencer could hear the confusion and panic in his voice, “what the hell!?”

“My sentiments exactly!” Spencer resituated himself, keeping the barrel of his gun trained on Sam’s knee, and asked, “Now where are we, and what are we doing here!?”

“Rockwood conservation area, and going on a date,” Sam replied, shifting between the balls of his feet, his hands still presumably in the air, “Or at least I thought we were.”

“What kind of person takes someone on a date at night in the middle of the woods!?” Spencer huffed, his voice reaching a fever high pitch.

“The kind of person who wanted to take you to a late night showing at the Smithsonian, but who’s also a starving medical intern and couldn’t afford it!” Sam sounded intensely confused, his posture rigid as he asked, “What kind of person brings a gun on a first date?”

“An FBI agent who’s seen enough first dates gone wrong to risk going without!”

“Oh,” Sam said, dropping his hands down to his sides. He didn’t sound confused anymore, and when he spoke again, it was with sincere regret as he said, “Oh god, I am so sorry.”

Spencer frowned, “For what?”

“For taking you out to the woods at night without thinking about what you do for a living.” Sam moved again, taking slow and measured steps towards the car, and Spencer made sure to keep his gun trained on his knee. Ducking again, Sam leaned down so his head was hovering just before the open driver’s door, his expression apologetic, even though his gaze darted nervously between the gun and Spencer’s wild, anxious eyes. “I’m so sorry I scared you,” he said, “I wasn’t thinking. We’re just here to eat greasy diner food and take in the view.” Sam gestured over his shoulder to the cliff, “You can see the whole city from up here, and it’s the only place nearby where you can see the stars. There’s a fire pit over there… I figured I could build us a fire and we could hang out up here for a bit, have dinner and then grab a coffee afterwards. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Spencer said, his face flushing in embarrassment as he lowered his gun to the seat, flicking the safety on. There wasn’t even a hint of insincerity in Sam’s voice. “That… actually sounds nice.”

“I thought you might like it,” Sam replied, biting his lip nervously and glancing down at the gun, relief rolling off him in waves once it was no longer trained on him. “I can take you back, it’s… it’s not a big deal.”

God, he was running the gamut of emotions that night.

Spencer deflated, guilt filling in the space left behind by his fear. He watched Sam mournfully, mentally chastising himself for jumping to conclusions. Granted, the whole thing was strange, the whole situation so out of the norm, but so was Sam. He wasn’t the kind of guy you’d call “Joe Normal,” and that was what Spencer liked about him. He was an enigma, a puzzle he needed to figure out, and he just ruined his chances of ever doing so. “Sure,” he said softly, shoving his gun back into his bag with a remorseful sigh, “If you think that’s best.”

Goes to figure Spencer would ruin his first date in ages, with a guy he really liked, by pulling a fucking _gun_ on him.

There was probably a good reason he didn’t date very often.

But Sam was full of surprises. Taking a seat back in the car, he pinned Spencer under his intense stare and said, “I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t think that’s best,” he repeated earnestly, “I don’t want to take you back. I’ve wanted to go out with you since the first time I spoke to you. I’ve had an enormous, middle school crush on you since the second I first saw you. I don’t want to take you home, and I don’t want to call this night quits before we’ve given it a chance, but if you don’t feel safe and you want to go, I will. In a heart beat. I just need to know what you want.”

“Seriously?” Spencer scoffed and shuffled forward in his seat, erasing the distance between them as he looked Sam dead in the eye, “I just pulled a _gun_ on you! I just accused you of taking me out here to do… something _horrible_ to me! There is absolutely no reason for you to be worrying about my well being right now, and you most certainly don’t have to be accommodating my needs! Sam, you shouldn’t even want to be out here with me anymore!”

“But I do,” Sam said, reaching out and grabbing both of Spencer’s hands in his, “Call me crazy if you want, but I do. You hunt serial killers for a living, Spencer. I need to start assuming that you bring some of that baggage home with you. Honestly, any normal person would be just as freaked out as you were, and I really should have told you what we were doing. But you aren’t normal, are you? You’re…” Spencer grit his teeth, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and was pleasantly surprised when Sam said instead, “You’re extraordinary.”

“And you’re way too forgiving,” Spencer told him, straight-faced and Sam laughed.

“I’ve been told,” he said, squeezing Spencer’s hands, “but I’m also not as thoughtful as I should be, and I promise I’ll work on that.” He looked at Spencer, imploring him with upturned eyes, “Will you stay?”

Spencer bit his lip nervously, scanning Sam’s expression for any trace of insincerity and coming up lacking. So, instead of answering him with his words, which seemed to be failing him that night anyhow, Spencer held on tight to Sam’s hands and leaned forward, catching his lips in a sweet, chaste kiss.

When they broke away, Sam breathed a sigh of relief, smiling as he asked, “I’ll take that as a yes?”

Spencer nodded, “You grab the cooler, I’ll carry the food.”

It was amazing to him that they could slip back into normalcy after a freak out like that. Make no mistake, Spencer’s guilt hung over his head like a dark cloud, but Sam… seemed fine. He wanted him to be there. He seemed happy, chatting calmly as he built a fire, and Spencer busied himself with setting out the food and the blankets, letting himself relax.

He knew Sam, he assured himself. He did, he’d known him for months. How had he let himself get so worked up, questioning his instincts and his judgement even though he _knew_ better? Maybe his job was getting to him more than he realized… this was his first date in years, since taking the position at the BAU (Lila didn’t really count, he figured. That was just work).

He must have changed a lot since then.

He popped open the cooler, smiling when he saw that Sam had brought a plethora of things to drink, ranging from cold brew coffee, to beer, to wine and a nauseating looking green smoothie. “This must be for you,” he said, holding the smoothie out to Sam as he joined him by the fire, and Sam took it gratefully. They settled down together, sitting side by side, greasy diner grub laid out in front of them and the city sprawling underneath, and Spencer murmured, “I’m so sorry.”

Sam just shook his head, throwing his arm around Spencer’s shoulder and pulling him into his side, planting a gentle kiss to the crown of his head as he said, “You don’t need to be. We’ve both got baggage, remember? You’re just a little worse at hiding it than you thought you were.”

Spencer laughed, pressing closer to Sam, soaking in the heat of the fire and the comfortable weight of his body beside him. He reached down and grabbed his bottle of coffee, sipping at it as he looked out over the city scape. “It really is beautiful,” Spencer said, “You tend to forget when you’re in the thick of it.”

Sam hummed his agreement, “That’s why I love this spot. I used to hike out here a lot when I was still in med school. I don’t have as much time anymore, but I like the woods. Being immersed in nature. It helps put things in perspective.”

“I grew up in Las Vegas,” Spencer said, munching on a few French fries and pulling the blanket he had draped around him like a cape a little tighter, “there weren’t really any woods to escape to, but the desert was similar, I guess. Just big, open and arid, dangerous and wild. It used to make me feel small.”

“I think we need to feel that way sometimes. To remind us what’s really important.” Sam took his arm back, digging into his food as he artfully changed the subject, “I know you’re dying to tell me something about these constellations, so, lets have it.”

Spencer swatted at him playfully but obliged nonetheless. It was nice, actually, to have someone who sincerely wanted to hear what he had to say, no matter how ramble-y or inane he got. His friends at work tended to get tired of his encyclopedic insight on the origins of pressed paper or his inter-generational Star Trek theories, but Sam didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it, watching Spencer with rapt fascination as he talked about different cultural myths regarding the same constellations, about their differences and similarities despite geographical or generational disparities. He engaged with him the same way he would when discussing a book they were both reading, which reminded Spencer of something he’d forgotten to ask about earlier that night.

“Why _Trilby_?”

“Hmm?” Sam looked over at him curiously, mid bite of his salad.

“You brought me a first edition copy of _Trilby_ ,” Spencer clarified, “Why?”

Sam shrugged, “I couldn’t bring you flowers.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t strike me as a flowers kind of guy.”

“So, your alternative to flowers is a first edition of an obscure English novel?”

Sam nodded and smiled, his dimples more pronounced by the firelight, “For you? Yeah. I mean, what do you get the guy who’s read everything?”

“I haven’t read _everything_ ,” Spencer said, and when Sam cocked a brow he turned towards the cityscape, trying and failing to keep from smiling, “There are still a few languages I’ve yet to master.”

Sam’s laughter was like music to his ears.

When their meal was done and Spencer had moved from coffee to beer, the conversation started to lull. They’d been out there for two hours, and though the wind had picked up, the fire crackled vigorously, doing well to keep them warm. Still, Spencer tugged the blanket around his shoulders just a little tighter, and shivered despite himself, shaking where he was pressed up against Sam’s side.

“It is getting a little cold,” Sam said, wrapping his arm around Spencer’s shoulder again and rubbing his hand up and down his arm, “We could start heading back if you wanted, or we could move into the car. Might be a little high-school though.”

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked.

Sam furrowed his brow, “You know, back in high-school? Driving up to make-out point, hanging out in the car ‘cause it was the only place to get any privacy?”

“I was twelve when I graduated high school,” Spencer clarified, “I wasn’t going to make out anywhere with anyone.”

Sam made a small noise of understanding, before pursing his lips and looking off into the distance. Clearly there was something he wanted to say hovering on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back, clearing his throat instead.

Maybe it was the winding, stressful route they had taken to get to that point, sitting on top of a cliff at night, overlooking the city. Maybe it was the wide scope of emotions Spencer had run through that night alone, or the anticipation he’d built up during the long, excruciating wait to find time for this date. Whatever it was, it filled Spencer with a confidence he didn’t know he possessed, and he turned to Sam, actually managing to look up from the ground as he said, “Maybe… we could rectify that?”

Sam looked down at him sharply, the light from the fire casting shadows across his pensive expression, the reflection of the flames dancing in his narrowed eyes. He licked his lips slowly, and Spencer felt his grip on his arm tighten, his fingers squeezing him through the layers of jackets and blankets he was burrowed under. Spencer flushed, suddenly incredibly warm under the heat of Sam’s gaze, and yet he shivered, this time not from the cold but with anticipation. He caught his lower lip between his teeth and slowly rolled it through, watching avidly as Sam’s predatory stare snapped down to track the movement.

His heart pounded in his chest, his belly exploding with warmth as he waited, in a state of suspended animation. He hardly remembered talking, or what he’d said, all he could focus on was the animal, rapacious reaction it had sparked in Sam. Just a few simple words, the barest hint at a kiss and all of Sam’s attention was zeroed in on him, flooding him with heat, and desire, and a _wanting_ that he’d never felt before.

 _Oh Spencer_ , he thought to himself, unconsciously leaning closer to Sam, _you were right the first time: this man is deadly._

But as quickly as it appeared, the carnal energy that had jolted and crackled between them was gone, snuffed out when Sam tore his gaze away, taking his arm back and clambering awkwardly to his feet. Disappointment crashed into him like a tidal wave, dousing any spark of hopeful anticipation that had seeded itself inside of him, and Spencer sighed, helping to clean up the empty food containers left in the wake of their dinner. The moved in silence, Sam dousing the fire with water from the cooler, Spencer rolling the blankets back up and heading to the car, both working quickly to get out of the cold, and away from the awkward tension that hung down over them.

Spencer climbed into the car, thoroughly embarrassed and not sure of what to say as Sam joined him in the Impalas front seat. He turned the key in the ignition, and the radio came alive. Instead of incessant talking, the station it was set too seemingly switched to jazz well after dark, and the sound of a smoky trombone reverberated through the speakers. Spencer shuffled in his seat, grabbing his seatbelt when he heard the pop of a bottlecap.

Frowning, he turned back to Sam and found him holding out another beer, already open for Spencer to take. “Oh,” he breathed, tentatively taking the bottle from Sam, “I thought we were leaving.”

“Why?” Sam asked, “Did you want to?”

“No!” Spencer said, shaking his head, “No, of course not. You just… got really quiet.”

Surprisingly, Sam laughed, ducking his chin to his chest and running a hand through his hair. “Can I let you in on a little secret?” he asked.

“Please do.”

“I—” Sam gestured helplessly towards Spencer as he confessed, “I don’t know what to make of you, Spence.” He huffed and turned in his seat, curling one leg up underneath him and resting an arm along the backrest, “You’re so hard to read, and sometimes I can’t… I don’t know if you’re being serious, or just pulling my leg. I can’t tell if you’re having a good time, or if you want to leave. Even when I think you’re being straightforward, I keep second guessing myself because I just don’t know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said helplessly, picking at the cuff of his jacket, “I didn’t realize, I—”

“No, it’s not,” Sam made a frustrated sound and paused, running a hand over his mouth and collecting his words before continuing, “I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, and its nothing to do with you _at all_. I just, I really like you, and I think I’m letting it cloud my judgement. I don’t want to mess anything up, but in an attempt to avoid doing so, I’m messing things up.”

“But you’re not—” Spencer started, but Sam cut him off.

“You pulled a gun on me fifteen minutes into our date,” he said incredulously, “because I decided to take you into the middle of the woods at night, and wouldn’t tell you where we were going!”

“Exactly!” Spencer said, gesticulating wildly at the space in between them, “ _I pulled a gun on you!_ I-I threatened you with severe bodily harm, you shouldn’t be apologizing to me, you should be suing me! You should be asking for my badge number! If anyone is ruining anything, it’s me. I’m just so insecure that in my head, even though I should know better, the thought of someone like you wanting to be with someone like me is just… so incredibly preposterous that it couldn’t possibly be true. So, I let myself get worked up and extrapolated a crisis where there was none.” He took a deep breath, “I messed up, not you.”

“Okay, first of all,” Sam said, counting off on his fingers, “this isn’t the first time I’ve been on the business end of a gun, so while I might not have seen it coming, its not like you traumatized me or anything. Two, of course I want to be with you, have you _seen_ you?” Spencer flushed beet red, and Sam smiled, “You’re brilliant, funny and gorgeous, you can't tell me there isn’t a person on this planet who wouldn’t kill to be with you. And three,” Sam looked Spencer in the eye, saying earnestly, “I’m having a wonderful time with you tonight, threat of bodily harm and all.”

“As am I,” Spencer said softly, asking, “so, what’s the problem?”

Sam shrugged. “We’re both incredibly neurotic, self-conscious man-children who can’t get out of their own heads long enough to enjoy themselves?”

It made sense.

It made so much sense that Spencer couldn’t manage to hold in the laugh that bubbled past his lips.

Clapping a hand over his mouth, Spencer looked up at Sam, absolutely mortified but Sam just grinned at him, chuckling lightheartedly as Spencer snorted out another laugh, stifling the brunt of it but not managing to hold his amusement at bay. Struck by the absolute absurdity of their behaviour, Spencer huffed, giggling uncontrollably behind his hand until he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Crumpling forward, he bent almost in two under the force of his howling laughter. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, his shoulders shook and he gasped, trying to regain his composure and failing miserably. Sam patted him on the back but wasn’t faring much better (Spencer’s amusement was apparently infectious) and the car bounced on its shocks as Sam threw his head back, a full body laugh rocking through him, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

“We are,” Spencer managed, sitting back in his seat with reddened cheeks, panting out the last of his giggles.

“Are what?”

“Incredibly neurotic,” he said, pushing his hair out of his face and looking over at Sam, smiling from ear to ear, “Its almost impressive.”

“Maybe you should conduct a study on us, doctor,” Sam joked, catching his breath and breathing out a huge, steadying sigh, “You’d be famous.”

“Not a chance!” Spencer swatted at him lightly, and Sam laughed again, wincing and rubbing at his side, “I work with a team of profilers, the last thing I need to do is give them more reasons to go poking around inside my head.”

Sam sobered a little, tilting his head where it rested on the back of the seat so he could look at Spencer, “That must be exhausting.”

Spencer shook his head, “Not really. We have a rule: no profiling profilers. But sometimes you can’t help it.”

“Have you ever profiled me?” Sam asked.

“A little,” Spencer confessed, leaning sideways against the seat and taking a sip of his beer, “but I’ve tried to refrain.”

Sam hummed, thinking for a moment. “Alright then,” he said, nodding his head with finality, “Let’s hear it.”

“No,” waving his hands in front of him, Spencer put his hypothetical foot down, “I’ve thrown too many curveballs during this date already, I’m not doing it again.”

“Not even if I’m asking you to?”

“Not even then,” Spencer said, crossing his legs and leaning back against the door, his head resting against the cool glass of the window, “but you can ask me anything else, if you like.”

Raising a brow, Sam asked, “Anything?”

“Within reason,” Spencer rolled his eyes, grinning over the rim of his beer bottle.

He couldn’t keep the smile off his face, it seemed. He was giddy, relieved at discovering they were both on a level playing field, both crazy and nervous but so incredibly interested in the other they were willing to fight through their neuroses to make this night work. And it was. Spencer, even though he had been frightened within an inch of his life, had threatened Sam with a gun and was still riding along this intense emotional rollercoaster he’d built up for himself, was having a great time.

Sam was easy to talk to. He was kind and forgiving, and he didn’t seem to mind Spencer’s occasional bouts of anxiety, which usually culminated in him getting stuck inside his head. He was comfortable with silence, and when the conversation lulled he was perfectly content to sit and watch the stars, or the twinkling lights of the city below them, listening to late night jazz filtering through the stereo and just enjoying each others company.

“Okay.” Sam reached tentatively across the bench seat, his fingers just brushing Spencer’s knee as he asked, “Why did you join the BAU?”

“That’s a loaded question,” Spencer said, huffing awkwardly and trying to ignore the heat that bloomed across his thigh when Sam finally placed his palm down over his knee, stroking the rough denim with the pad of his thumb, “I guess I just wanted to help people.”

“There are a million and one jobs where you could have helped people,” Sam said, gazing absently out the windshield, “You could have been a medical doctor, a psychiatrist, a social worker. You could have been an entrepreneur, the da Vinci of the twenty-first century, but instead you decided to work for the FBI in the BAU. Why?”

Spencer took a long gulp of his beer, swishing it along his gums as he repeated the question in his mind. Why did he join the BAU? No one had ever asked him that before, and to be honest, he’d never given it much thought. “I was taking a criminal psychology course in grad school,” he said, joining Sam in looking out at the city scape, “I’d taken many beforehand, obviously. One of my bachelor’s degrees was in clinical psychology, so I’d studied criminals before. Bundy, Gacy, Garavito… Every prolific serial killer who was ever studied or captured, all the things they’ve done and why, its all up here,” he tapped his temple, “locked away forever.”

“That sounds horrible,” Sam said softly.

“It’s not that bad,” Spencer assured him, placing his hand over Sam’s, “living with an eidetic memory, you learn how to compartmentalize the information you take in, and I honestly found them interesting. I liked to pick them apart, to sort through their psychosis and motives, to figure out why they did the things they did. What drove them to it, and why they weren’t caught sooner.” He chuckled, “Call it a morbid hobby, but I’m fascinated with the human mind. It always broke my heart though, that there was nothing I could do for their victims. And every time I encountered a case that went on too long, or a criminal that escaped the authorities, I couldn’t help but feel like I could have done better. If I were on the case, I could have solved it, and maybe I could have saved some lives.”

“So, you joined the BAU?”

“I honestly didn’t register that the BAU was an option,” Spencer replied, shrugging his shoulders flippantly, “I mean, look at me. I’m not the police work type, and had the FBI crossed my mind at any time, I would have dismissed it as not a viable option. I would never have thought I’d make it past basic training.” He paused, smiling softly when Sam turned his hand under his palm, looping their fingers together, “Then I met Gideon. He was a guest lecturer, and he showed me there was work to be done that fit within my interests, profiling criminals and catching them before they could do more harm. Suddenly, there was a practical application to the skills I’d been privately cultivating, and I was introduced to a career that would allow me to help the people who needed it most.”

“And you made it through basic,” Sam said, looking over at him with a small smile, “good for you.”

“Not quite.” Grinning wryly, Spencer shot Sam a sideways glance and said, “Gideon grandfathered me in. All I had to do was pass a written examination, a few interviews and attend a couple fundraising galas.”

Sam threw his head back and laughed up towards the roof of the car. “Showing off the resident genius,” he said, “You’ve probably had to do a few of those in your lifetime, huh?”

“Just a couple,” Spencer replied, chuckling along with him. “What about you?” he asked, “Why did you become a doctor?”

“I wanted to help people, too,” Sam said, and when Spencer waved at him to elaborate, he shrugged, “I really don’t have a story to go along with it. There wasn’t any grand revelation, or a personal mentor that led me to medicine… I just…”

Sam broke off and looked away again, this time pensively, his leg jittering as he thought. “I didn’t have what you would call a happy childhood, and I went through some pretty bad stuff from the time I was very young,” he said, and his grip on Spencer’s hand tightened, only after he tapped his finger twice, “But no matter how bad things got for me, there was always someone else who had it worse, who I couldn’t help. I felt useless when I was a kid, seeing and hearing these people who were suffering, who needed someone to save them, and I was too little to do anything. So, I made myself a promise, that when I got older I would never allow myself to be in a position where I couldn’t help people who needed it, ever again.”

“So, you became a doctor,” Spencer breathed, squeezing Sam’s hand just as tightly, his heart pounding in his chest, fueled by a fresh burst of affection that burned in his veins, “that’s incredibly selfless of you.”

“You too,” Sam said, gazing at Spencer from across the bench seat, the moonlight hitting just the one half of his face, “You could have been anything, but you chose to do something dangerous and noble.”

“I wouldn’t call it noble,” Spencer said, but Sam shook his head to the contrary.

“I would.”

His body thrummed, tingling with nerves and heat from the tips of his fingers to his toes, and Spencer licked his lips, placing his nearly empty bottle in the cup holder and shuffling a little closer. The move was subtle, but Sam mirrored it, gliding a little further along the bench, his thigh brushing against Spencer’s.

That static energy was back, the same that had burst between them when Spencer first opened his front door, and when they were sitting by the fire. His skin prickled with heat, and Spencer met Sam’s intense expression with his own, watching with piqued interest as Sam’s jaw clenched, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly.

“Spencer?” Sam called to him, his voice low and yearning.

“Yes?” He replied with barely more than a whisper.

“Can I kiss you?”

Spencer’s heart jumped into his throat, and he exhaled slowly, murmuring, “Yes.”

They moved in sync, their nosed bumping against each other and Spencer laughed nervously, tilting his head to the side as Sam smiled against his mouth, sucking Spencer’s bottom lip between his. He gasped, his lips parting and Sam cupped the back of his head, holding him still as he kissed him, growing bolder with each press of their lips.

Spencer reached up with both hands, tangling them in Sam’s thick hair, scraping his nails gently against his scalp and relishing in the groan that rumbled in Sam’s throat. He was pulled closer, Sam wrapping his other arm around his waist and hauling him forward with surprising fervor, pressing him into Sam’s chest and forcing him to lean against him, Sam supporting the brunt of his weight. There was a barely constrained power to Sam’s embrace, a hinted strength in his arms and Spencer fell into it, succumbing to his embrace and holding on for dear life, as the sound of their kisses filled the cabin.

His breath came in shaking, panting gasps, and Spencer closed his lips around Sam’s tongue as he retreated, sucking softly and whimpering when Sam’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into Spencer’s shoulder through his jacket. He ran his hand down Spencer’s back, tracing the curve of his spine with his palm and Spencer arched into it, canting his hips backwards, all but sitting in his lap as Sam slipped his fingertips under the hem of his shirts, brushing against smooth, heated skin.

Having been uncharacteristically bold all evening already, Spencer pressed both palms to Sam’s chest, pushing him back just enough that he had space to throw one leg over Sam’s lap, pulling himself up onto knees and straddling Sam’s thighs. “Fuck, Spencer,” Sam groaned against his lips, his hands flying up to Spencer’s hips and holding on tight, steadying him as he leaned forward and kissed him once again.

It was swelteringly hot inside the car, the windows fogging as they made out like teenagers at the beginning of a cheesy horror flick but Spencer hadn’t the presence of mind to care. Sam was moaning louder now, huffing for breath as they parted for seconds at a time, and when Spencer settled more firmly into his lap Sam bucked his hips upwards, the firm line of his arousal pressing into Spencer’s inner thigh.

He arched his back, keening when Sam shoved his hands up underneath his jacket and shirt, running his palms against his bare skin as he moved away from his lips, kissing across Spencer’s jaw and down to his neck. Spencer tilted his head to the side, baring his neck to Sam’s relentless assault of lips and tongue and breathing hard. His chest heaved and he rest his forehead against the seats backrest, the leather cool against his overheated skin as Sam slid his hands down, past his hips to cup his ass through his jeans, squeezing firmly.

Spencer’s eyes snapped open and he sat up immediately. “Wait, wait,” he said, reaching back and pulling Sam’s hands off him, “stop.”

Sam was apologizing before he even knew what was wrong, taking his hands back and holding them up like he had earlier, and Spencer felt guilty all over again. “Shit, I’m sorry,” Sam said, his brow furrowing as he asked, “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“Yes, yeah I-I’m fine,” Spencer said, lifting back up onto his knees, trying to put some distance between them, though he was still sitting in Sam’s lap, “You didn’t do anything to apologise for, I just—”

 _You just what?_ he thought, running a hand over his flushed face as he tried to collect himself. Everything was fine, and then he just… wigged out. He panicked, and he needed to stop, but what the hell had happened?

He looked down at Sam apologetically, who was still holding his hands out at his sides, looking more concerned than confused, and Spencer’s heart thrummed painfully in his chest. Sam’s hair was a mess, his lips swollen and plump and his breath was still coming in panting little gulps, his chest heaving just inches from Spencer’s belly. He could feel the heat radiating off him, through their layers of clothing and the scant inches of space, and Spencer wanted nothing more than to duck back down, wrap his arms around those broad shoulders and kiss again and again, until he had nothing left in him to give.

But he couldn’t. He was paralyzed with the realization that this was _so_ unlike him. Spencer didn’t make out in cars with anyone, not even on a date. He wasn’t even particularly fond of _kissing_ on the first date, and he didn’t get past chaste pecks on the lips until at least the third. And yet here he was, planted firmly in Sam’s lap on the last leg of their rollercoaster of a date, trying his darndest to lick his freaking tonsils, grinding against him and getting felt up in the middle of the woods, in a _muscle car_.

He was a grown man first of all, not a seventeen-year-old girl. He was too old to be doing shit like this, and just because he never got the chance when he was younger, didn’t mean he had to make up for it now. Secondly, this was their first date, and they’d already jumped each other twice. Things were getting too heated, way too fast, and someone needed to pump the breaks. And lastly, this wasn’t something that Spencer ever did! He'd never done anything like this before, so why was he doing it now?

And why couldn’t he just accept that it was because he wanted to?

He wanted, oh how he wanted. He couldn’t look at Sam, couldn’t touch him because he knew the instant he did, the instant he saw his soulful eyes or felt him move under his palms, Spencer knew he would give in. He was holding onto the very threads of his self control, and for what? What was so wrong about wanting to be physical with someone? He knew he liked Sam, knew that he liked kissing him and spending time with him, knew that he wanted to _be_ with him… so why was he trying so hard to convince himself not to?

He sighed, running his fingers over his swollen lips as he clambered off of Sam’s lap and back into the passenger seat.

He was such a coward.

“Nothings wrong,” he repeated, pulling his jacket tighter around himself, “it’s just getting late, and we should probably start heading back.”

Spencer couldn’t bring himself to look at Sam, staring intently out the passenger window instead, but he could hear the hurt and confusion in his voice when he said, “Sure. Yeah, of course, I’ll take you home.”

The drive back to Spencer’s apartment was as quiet as the drive away from it. The radio hummed lowly, and the engine rumbled but that was the only noise in the cabin, both Sam and Spencer deathly silent. Spencer knew he should say something, but he didn’t know what _to_ say. He worried that if he opened his mouth, he would do something stupid and brave, like invite Sam up to his apartment, or ask him to take him back to Sam’s. His body was still vibrating with arousal, and he had to actively try to regulate his breathing, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t just… he wasn’t that kind of person!

He’d only had sex a handful of times in his life, and that had been after weeks of dating and getting to know someone. He’d never gone as far as he had that night on a first date, hell, he hardly got that far at all with any of his dates, regardless of the time frame. And he’d never wanted to, never before.

But Sam was different. He didn’t know why, but he was. Spencer liked him, had been attracted to him (begrudgingly, to start) since the day he first saw him, and after tonight it was safe to say he was completely infatuated with him. For the first time in his life, he felt completely and utterly in over his head, awash with feelings he couldn’t begin to quantify. All he knew for certain was when Sam touched him, he came alive, and if he were to do so again, Spencer wouldn’t be able to stop himself from giving in and just taking what Sam was offering him.

And that frightened him to no end.

By the time they’d pulled up in front of Spencer’s apartment, the tension in the air had started to slip away, and Spencer had begun to relax. While they were still quiet, Sam was no longer stiff and awkward, and Spencer had pulled himself out of his mental freak out, enough that when Sam asked if he could walk him up to his apartment, Spencer said yes.

Standing at the precipice of his apartment, hovering in front of his open door, Spencer looked down at his shoes, and said, “Thanks for tonight, I had a really good time.”

“No need to thank me,” Sam replied, shuffling between the balls of his feet, his hands shoved in his pockets as he awkwardly hunched his shoulders, “I’m glad you had fun, and hopefully I didn’t freak you out too badly.”

“Once I knew what we were doing, I was fine,” Spencer said, looking up at Sam with a small, rueful smile, “I’m glad I didn’t ruin everything by threatening you.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Spencer clicked his tongue and gave him a small shove, Sam laughing as he danced out of the way. His countenance changed quickly, however, when he went to say goodbye. Tapping Spencer’s chin to get him to look him in the eye, he asked, “Are you going to tell me what happened earlier, in the car?”

“Nothing happened,” Spencer said, and seeing that Sam didn’t believe him, explained, “Nothing to do with you. It’s just that, this was our first date, and its… everything’s just—”

“Moving too fast?”

 _Not fast enough_. Spencer shook the unwanted thought from his head, and said, “Just a little.”

“Okay,” Sam said, grabbing Spencer’s hand and squeezing it gently, “that’s alright, we can slow things down. But,” he licked his lips nervously, his eyes flicking from their joined hands up to Spencer’s eyes, and asked, “are we okay?”

Spencer nodded, and squeezed his hand back, “Yeah, we’re okay.”

Sam breathed a sign of relief, “Good.” He leaned forwards, and Spencer stiffened, not knowing what he was planning on doing, or what he would do if Sam kissed him again, but all Sam did was cup the back of his neck as he gently kissed his forehead. “Have a good night Spencer,” he said, tearing himself away with some difficulty, and heading towards the stairs.

_Don’t let him go, you idiot, don’t let him leave!_

“Sam, wait!”

Spencer reached out and grabbed Sam’s hand just as Sam turned back to face him, his eyebrows up to his hairline and incredibly confused. Spencer wished he could help him, catch him up to what he was thinking, but for once, even he didn’t know. He just couldn’t let Sam leave, not over something so menial, so silly as Spencer being afraid of wanting to be with him. He wanted to feel alive again, wanted Sam’s hands on him, Sam’s lips, just… Sam. He didn’t want to wait; the only reason he’d waited before was because none of his previous partners had made him feel like _this_ , and he wasn’t ready to let Sam leave and take this feeling with him.

“I lied,” he said, and Sam’s expression fell, probably thinking Spencer meant they weren’t okay, so he hastened to clarify, “about what happened in the car. We weren’t moving too fast, it was that I… I didn’t want to stop, and that scared me. And I don’t want to stop, not even now.”

“Spencer,” Sam said pleadingly, “I need you to tell me what you mean. Tell me like I’m five years old, simple words and all, please.”

“I want you to come inside,” Spencer said without hesitation, and Sam gaped at him, staring like he’d sprouted an extra head, “I want you to come inside with me, take me to my bedroom and have sex with me until neither one of us can move.” Quickly, he added, “If that’s something you’d want. Is that something you’d want?”

Sam huffed disbelievingly and shook his head, managing to blurt out “What do you think?” before he wrapped Spencer up in his arms, kissing him deeply and backing him into his apartment, kicking the door closed behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me for ending it there!! The next in the series is gonna be explicit, and should be out in a few days. I hope you enjoyed, and keep your eyes peeled for the next fic, "November 2006: 24-hours."

**Author's Note:**

> Next Chapter: much more date, much less phone calls.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the first part of this second installment. Be sure to check out the first fic in the series for the first part, and as always, comments and Kudos are my life's blood!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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